Standing Together: The 175th Hunger Games
by OceaneBreeze13
Summary: A Rebellion is close in the Districts, and in order to stop it, the President plans on having one of the most horrific games yet. The Quarter Quell has come for the seventh time. In the 175th Hunger Games, groups of siblings are forced to compete against each other in an arena no one will soon forget. Only one family will come out alive. SYOT CLOSED.
1. Prologue

Celtic Mordel - District Eight Citizen

Father of Future Female Tribute, Kitrus Mordel

"The attack is scheduled for midnight, understood?" I look through the crowd, searching for someone who is not smiling, is not nodding, is not agreeing with the sacred words I speak. No one dares to question me.

"Weapons at hand?" I ask. Everyone solemnly lifts a matchbox, assured that each tiny match they hold is important. "Then come midnight, we will fight for our freedom! We will fight for the end of the Tyranny of Panem."

* * *

I stand alone at the top of the Justice Building of District Eight. The flag of Panem flies proudly above me, freshly replaced for the Reapings. A crescent moon gives light to the sanctuary that will soon be the last glimpse of home two innocent children see before they leave to fight to the death in the Hunger Games.

It's reasons like that that I can't give up on the Rebellion. Reasons that are everywhere I look. The exhaustion my wife shows everyday after she gets back from the textile factory, working long hours making Capitol Citizen dresses only to receive a handful of silver. The skinny frame of my teenage daughter, who has never had a full meal in her life. The Peacekeepers who whip starved orphan children for stealing fruit from the stand's of merchants. The jeering shouts of the Capitol Citizens as they cheer for children to murder each other. The President, who knows of the poverty and cruelty but still lets the Hunger Games live.

My only goal is to show all those victims the wonderful life they could have, the life that Panem steals from them. How funny they call this the Justice Building. Starve your citizens, then send them to their death from the Justice Building. Tonight, as men and woman alike climb to the top of the Justice Building to join me, we will show Panem real justice.

Soon the crowd of people stands behind me. "Grab a match," I say. There is no wind or rain tonight, I couldn't have picked a better night to do this. The congregation reaches for their matchbox. They each take one match and strike it. "Now the flag."

The youngest person in our group, a nineteen year old boy, climbs up the pole and uses a rare pocket knife to cut the flag away from the strings that hold it down. He succeeds, and carries the flag of Panem to us.

I pull out my own matchbox and swiftly light a match. The little fire flickers to life in front of me, dancing in the moonlight. Someone is holding each corner of the flag, making sure to keep it flat for me. I take my match and drop it onto the center of the flag. "Let us watch Panem burn!"

Everyone throws their match onto the flag and it ignites, flaming brighter than the stars. The flag holders run to the edge of the roof, ready to throw the flag of the top of the building, but gunfire opens on us from below. Peacekeepers. One of the corner holders crumples to the ground. I snatch the flag quickly and toss it over the edge.

"WATCH PANEM BURN, SOLDIERS!" I shout. The flames rage all the way down, and hit the dirt ground in a poof of smoke. Then more gunfire. Chaos erupts on the roof. I run for the side I climbed up on, a side full of footholds and handgrips. Around me, people are shouting and falling, some getting shot and some simply toppling over the edge. I make my way down, alongside the mass of survivors. At the bottom, we flee.

The next morning, the bodies are gone from the area for the Reapings, I checked. A new flag is flying over Panem. But on the dirt floor, there is a noticeable patch of ash, the remains of the flag.

I was about to leave when I saw a small spark of light. I came in closer to investigate. A match. In spite of the losses and failure, one match still burned on.

President Falcon POV

The Districts are close to Rebellion. Too close. I blame it on the tributes last year; they ruined everything. In last year's Hunger Games, an alliance survived until the end and then refused to kill each other. There were six tributes in this group, enough to keep themselves safe. The Districts loved it. Uprisings started popping up everywhere, save District Two and the Capitol. Gamemakers set mutts on those tributes, and tried to kill them in avalanches, but the group never separated and managed to survive all of it. Meanwhile in Panem, the resistance continued.

Eventually, Gamemakers had to poison the tribute's water. It made for a terrible ending; incredibly boring to the Capitollites. Five minutes after drinking, the tributes started dropping dead. The last tribute alive had to be rescued by Gamemakers and rehabilitated in the Capitol to be the Victor. The ratings were terrible, but what was worse was that the Districts had hope because of the alliance.

It's been next to impossible to control Panem. That's why I'm thrilled for this years Quarter Quell. This year, the Games will be so sinister, heartless, and devastating, that the hope will be crushed. The Games will be bloody and ruthless. The uprising will die when I remind them who's really in charge.

I straighten my green tuxedo one last time. The backstage countdown says that I'll be on live in thirty-five seconds. There's only enough time to practice my smile. I work on my smile a lot - I have to have the perfect glint in my eye, and raise the corners of my lips just the right amount. If I execute this move flawlessly, the Capitol will see me as charming and the Districts will see me as evil. With that, I can control both of them.

_5... 4... 3... 2... 1!_

I swing the door open and step onto the stage. Thousands of Capitol Citizens stand in front of me, screaming and jumping in their stands. I wave to them, and then the cameras. Everyone in Panem is watching. So I smile.

"Thank you, thank you," I say into a microphone in the middle of the stage. "Are you ready... for the Seventh Quarter Quell, and the 175th Annual Hunger Games?" The Capitollites continue to shout and applaud; several groups chanting my name. I'm ready - it's time to announce the Quarter Quell twist.

"As a reminder that entire families were destroyed in the Rebellion, parents will be Reaped and forced to send all of their sons or daughters into the Arena. If a set of siblings reaches the end together, they all will be announced Victors. Happy Hunger Games, and May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor."

**Authors Note**

**First of all, hello and thank you for reading my story! Although this is my first fanfic, I have written a few filler chapters for The 125th Hunger Games: Fearstruck by Angelofmusic4ever. (It's a great SYOT and I highly recommend you read it.)**

**Secondly, because of my Quarter Quell twist, Reapings will have to work a little differently this year. Tribute forms will be affected, so pay close attention! For each District, the Female Bowl will contain all the names of parents who have one or more daughters ages 12-18. The number of times the parents have their names in is the combined amount of all their daughters slips. The parent who is reaped will have to send in all their qualifying daughters to be the female tributes for that District. The same rules apply for males. This means when you fill out a tribute form, you have to make one for all the qualifying siblings. Please, no more than three siblings in a set so that there aren't too many POV's. This year will have no orphans. Remember, a tribute could be an only child. Additionally, runaways still have to participate if their parent is Reaped. Also, volunteering is still possible, but that will have to work differently too. Parents have to volunteer their children. Please have the Careers be volunteered children. **

**Lastly, please send in forms for tributes, stylists, mentors, and escorts. The forms will be on my profile. I greatly appreciate it. Please continue to read and review! Thank you!**

**~ Oceane**


	2. District Two Reapings

**AN**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. Only this plot belongs to me. **

Kelsie Thorn

I wanted to volunteer myself, but this will have to do. Dad promised to volunteer for me, and this year I will walk up by his side ready to fight my way through the Hunger Games. The downfall is that I won't be alone - this year, when Dad volunteers, my sisters will have to come into the Games with me. Kassandra will do fine - she can pull her own weight and fight almost as well as me. It's Katherine I worry about.

"Want to practice?" I spin around to see Kassandra leaning against the door frame of our fitness room, a knife in her left hand and a sword in her right. We call it our fitness room because having a weaponry training room is illegal, but all we do in the room is fight.

"Of course," I smile at my twin and quickly pull my strawberry blonde hair back in a tight pony tail. "I'm coming, Kas." Kassandra, or Kas as everyone calls her, sets down her knife and steps into the fitness room. I follow her and run to the back wall to get my sword, a simple sword that was once my Aunt's. We both step into a padded ring, balancing our silver weapons between our hands.

I lunge at Kassandra, striking her side. She steps aside and thrusts towards my abdomen, but I counter. For a moment, our blades are locked in front of us. Then my strength outdoes hers and I push her sword down. Before she can recover, I step forward and press my sword up to her neck.

"You're ready," she says. I pull my sword away and we put our weapons back on the rack.

"Ready?" I scoff. "I've been preparing for this day every second of my life."

"Then go put on a dress."

* * *

I stand in front of my closet, debating over what would be best to wear today for the Reapings. Since my Dad works for the Capitol and my Mom was once a Capitol citizen, I've always had more than enough clothes. My eyes search my wardrobe for whatever will attract the most sponsors. Finally, I settle on a strapless red satin dress with a golden belt - so that all of Panem knows that I'm wealthy.

Once I'm at my mirror, I debate over whether or not I should do anything with my hair. It's naturally curly, so I decide just to leave it. I quickly put on a pair of golden heels and practice walking. I'm usually at the training academy fighting, so I'm not exactly accostomed to walking in high-heels. After a few minutes, I step out of my room and head downstairs to have a final meal before I leave.

In the kitchen, I see that Kassandra is wearing the same dress as me, but in purple as opposed to red. "Kas, put on a different dress. We can't look like little kids on National Television."

Kas turns around, a piece of whole wheat toast in her hand. At least she's not getting fat before the games. "Oh, hi Kels," Kas smiles. "Nice dress."

"Not funny Kas. It's bad enough we're identical twins. We can't go around wearing the same clothes. It'll make us look three years old."

"Relax. The Capitol just might like matching sisters," Kas shrugs. "I'm not changing."

I check the time. Only thirty minutes are left until the Reapings. There's not enough time for _me _to change. "Fine, Kas. We better get some sponsors out of this."

* * *

Katherine Thorn

I check my watch, but it's too dark to see anything. It doesn't matter, I know it's tme to leave anyways. Setting down my drink, I make my way towards the area where I know the exit is. Right now, the room is too dark, and crowded, to actually see anything, but I've been to enough parties here to know my way around. I push and shove through the crowd of teens until I'm standing right next to the door.

"Kat!" Despite the blaring music of the live band, I know I'm hearing my name being called. When I turn around, I see Sierra, the host of the party, standing behind me. "Why are you heading out?" Sierra smirks at me. "You're not usually one to leave a good party early."

"The Reapings start in a half hour," I mutter.

"The Reapings?" Sierra laughs. "No one goes to those. We're District Two, remember? The Capitol loves us, no one cares if we don't show up. There's always volunteers anyways. And I don't see you as the volunteering type."

"The twist, Sierra. Remember the Quarter Quell twist this year?"

"Something about siblings fighting together. Why does that make a difference?"

"You've seen my sisters."

"Sisters? Oh yeah, the twins who are the top of the class at the training academy. I remember them. They're volunteering aren't they?"

"Well, technically, my dad's volunteering them. But that means I'm going in too."

"Ha! I mean, good luck," Sierra smirks again. "I hope your death isn't too painful."

* * *

Stupid Kels. Stupid Kas. Stupid Hunger Games. My sisters are dragging me into this. I kick my dresser. Why doesn't the Capitol just take twenty four kids and execute them? That way they don't have to go through the whole fighting ordeal, and my sisters wouldn't be volunteering. I wouldn't have to go in then. I open my dresser and pull out a plain, brown dress. This is as fancy as I will go.

"Don't be stupid, Kat," I recognize Kels' voice coming from behind me. "That dress is ugly. All of Panem is watching, remember?"

"Shut up Kels," I growl.

"I'm just trying to help. You want sponsors, don't you?"

"Go away."

Kels walks up next to me and fishes through my dresser, finally pulling out a lacy white sundress. "This dress will go beautifully with your auburn hair." I slap Kels across the cheek and reach back into my dresser. This time, I pull out a pair of ripped jeans and a stained gray t-shirt.

"How will this go with my hair, Kels?" I snap. Kels is holding her cheek in her hand, stunned that I slapped her.

"You - you ungrateful brat! I hope you die painfully, Kat," Kels seethes through clenched teeth. And if you don't die right away, I will hunt you down and kill you myself!"

* * *

Saber Carlisle

Reaping Day! After all this time, it has finally arrived! I run down the hall of the towards my twin's, Vincent's, room. "Vince, I'm going to go ask Dad to volunteer, whether you're ready or not. Hurry up!"

"Wait up, Saber," he growls from inside his room. "This is a job for both of us!"

I can't wait. After years of training at the academy, I finally get to go into the Hunger Games! This is my chance to bring glory to my District, and to prove myself a warrior. When I was younger, before I became one of the best fighters in the academy, I was bullied. Other kids told me I would never be as good as Vince. This is my opportunity to show those idiots - and all of Panem - who I really am. I can't be controlled.

"There, now I'm ready," Vince's steps out to reveal that his shirt is on backwards and his shaggy blonde hair is sticking up in every direction. I can tell that he just rolled out of bed. I don't understand how anyone can sleep in on a day as exciting ad Reaping Day. "Stop smiling," Vince snaps. "You look like an idiot."

I quickly erase my grin as we walk downstairs to where our Dad is drinking his coffee on the couch. "Dad, we need to talk to you. It's very important," I say.

"Get to the point Saber," Vince rolls his eyes. "Dad, you have to volunteer today."

Our Dad looks up in shock. "I -"

"Volunteer?" Our little brother, Blade, runs in from the kitchen. "I want to volunteer! I love the Hunger Games!"

"Shut up," Vince says. "You're only eleven. You can volunteer later." Blade kicks the wall and stomps back to the kitchen.

"Boys, I, I mean, really? You want me to volunteer you?" Dad questions.

Mom walks in and assesses the room. "They want to volunteer, don't they?" she asks. Dad nods. "Let them," Mom says. "They're at the top of their class, and wouldn't it be nice to have some Victors in the family?" Without giving Dad time to respond, she adds, "Vince was supposed to volunteer anyways."

"Oh, all right. I'll volunteer, but you better win, boys," Dad says reluctantly. I turn and smile at Vince, and this time he's smiling too.

* * *

I step into my room, preparing to choose an outfit and to my surprise, see my mom sitting on my bed. "Hi Saber," she says, drawing her lips back into a thin smile. "I got this suit picked out for you. You and Vince are going to match." She throws down a dark green suit and a black tie.

"That's not what you came here to talk about, is it?" I check.

"No, it's not," my mom stands up, so that she can be taller than me, if only by an inch. "Saber, darling, do you remember your uncle?"

Uncle Jonathan. I do remember him. "He was the Victor, wasn't he?" I ask. My mom nods.

"A Victor, and my brother. He made all my accomplishments seem insignificant. With Vince as a twin, I know you know what I mean," she stares at me intensely. "I need you and your brother to become Victors. It's the only way to become even with Jonathan."

"Didn't he go insane and die in an asylum?" I ask my mom. That doesn't seem like much competition.

"Yes, but the world still remembers him as the young Victor. I came to talk to you because I know you would understand better than Vince. You have to win, Saber. Win for me."

* * *

Kassandra Thorn

Now that I'm standing in line to get registered for the Reapings, there is no excuse for looking weak. Kels and I stand side by side, smiling at each other. If the matching twins scheme is going to work, we need to look like we like being around each other. Behind us, Kat is slouching in her torn apart clothes. We're pretending like we don't know her. I feel bad for dragging her into this. Although no one knows it, I find the Games despicable. I'm not heartless like Kels, but I have to pretend I am.

The finger prick doesn't bother me. I'm used to bleeding because of the training academy. I link elbows with Kels and walk over to the seventeen year old section. The video starts, the same one as every year. The video talks about how the Hunger Games are a reminder of the struggles of the rebellion and a sacrifice for the common good. Kels is squirming with excitement.

"Hello District Two!" Our escort, Fiesta Cortez, says into the microphone. Her accent is a thick one, one that people rumor comes from the very edge of Panem, in an area once called, 'Mexico.' Her hair is a shade of red that is definitely Capitol manufactured and her eyes are also abnormal, being a almost neon shade of blue. She's serious about her work, which almost makes up for the fact that she's next to impossible to understand.

"Happy Hunger Games and May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor!" I manage to interpret from her. Kels nudges me points to our dad, Jason Thorn, who is giving us a thumbs up. He's going to volunteer me. No turning back now.

"As always, girls first," Fiesta announces. "Our District Two daughters are the children of..." She fishes around in the Reaping bowl before pulling out a name, "Stephanie Rogers!"

"I volunteer! I volunteer my daughters!" Dad runs forward and onto the stage. He glances into the audience and smiles at me. I smile back because I need to look strong. Kels is practically jumping up and down.

"What is your name, sir?" Fiesta asks.

"Jason Thorn."

"Congratulations!" Fiesta smiles. "I need the daughters of Jason Thorn to come forward."

Kels grabs my hand and we walk up to stage side by side. I smile and wave to the crowd, and Kels blows kisses, so I follow her lead. Once I'm on stage, grinning insanely, I look around for Kat. She isn't moving, just standing around in the fifteen year section acting like everyone else.

"Fiesta," Kels says. "I have one more sister."

"Who?" Fiesta asks.

"Kat, the fifteen year old who looks like she lives on the streets."

That narrows it down perfectly, because everyone but Kat managed to dress up. Peacekeepers surge forward and grab her, then begin to pull her forward. She steps on one of their feet and sprints up to the stage. She walks right up behind Kels and, her eyes glowing, whispers something I couldn't catch into her ear. Kels ignores her.

"What are your names?"

"I'm Kassandra," I smile. "This is my sister Kelsie, and this is Katherine."

Fiesta quickly moves on. "Now to the boys!"

* * *

Vince Carlisle

I know at that moment that nothing I can do will attract more attention than the Thorn family. So I stick to my normal attitude - I act strong.

"The District Two sons are the children of..." Fiesta grabs a new slip, "Jackson Werner!"

Jackson, a burly man in his fifties is making his way up when I hear my dad shout, "I volunteer my sons!" Dad walks hesitantly towards the stage. "My name is Hawking Carlisle," he says to Fiesta once he arrives.

"Fantastic!" Fiesta smiles. "Now, sons of Hawking, come to the stage."I walk up to the stage next to Saber, not smiling, but not scowling either. Just acting tough.

"What are your names?" Fiesta asks.

"I'm Vince," I say, "And this is twin Saber."

"Alright, shake hands," Fiesta smiles.

I step forward and shake hands with Kelsie and Kassandra, who look exactly the same, then with Katherine, who's scowling at me. Saber shakes their hands after me.

Fiesta smiles at the audience one last time. "Again, Happy Hunger Games and May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor!"

* * *

**AN**

**Thank you Savvy the Hunter of Artemis for the Thorn family and peeta6in6real6life for the Carlisle family. Thanks go out to angelofmusic4ever for Fiesta. Thank you to everyone else who sent in tributes, mentors, and escorts. Spots are still open, so please send in more! Because of Holiday activities, I won't be able to post every day. Thank you for the consideration. Please favorite, follow, and review! Have a great break! **

**-Oceane**


	3. District Four Reapings

Astrid Fae

"Astrid, put down that sketch pad and start cleaning. Your father will be home at any minute and the house looks like a wreck," Mom calls out of the kitchen, where I can smell fresh seafood being cooked.

"Mom," I start to snap, "Dad's not-"

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "That's enough Astrid," the voice says. Destiny. My sister. How does she put up with Mom's ignorance?

"But she's the parent! Why do I have to be strong while she flounders around in denial?" I turn to stare at my sister.

"This is Mom's last defense. She's trying to be strong, but it's hard. We have to help her. She'll come to reality eventually," my sister sighs. She's barely taller than me, by a half inch, but just enough that it makes me feel like I'm a child. It's always been this way; she's the compassionate one, I'm the one with the temper.

I turn away and prepare to bolt to my room, but Destiny grabs my arm. In the moment, my sketch book falls out of my hands and flutters open, landing with my most recent sketch on the top.

"Dad," Destiny whispers. I want to snatch my sketch book away from Destiny, but I'm paralyzed, a single tear rolling down my cheek. "Astrid, this is beautiful," Destiny picks up my book and runs her finger over my drawing.

It's a portrait of Dad, wearing his casual clothes, the ones he wore when he went fishing out on his small catamaran. He had the same dark brown hair as me and the same sea green eyes as Destiny. He was all lines; well defined, without the small nose that my sister and I inherited from our mom. He was always smiling, even in my picture, his smile peaceful, if not worn. His face was a deep tan from years of fishing under the sun in the middle of the ocean.

Dad loved the ocean. He spent his entire life swimming in it, and fishing. He took my mother, Destiny, and I to the beach on days when the waves weren't too violent. He loved the ocean, but he also understood it. "Never mistake the ocean for kind," he would always say, "the ocean is fair, nothing more. Beautiful, but so much more dangerous than any man."

Dad was right. The ocean is no one's friend. My dad loved the ocean. It was the ocean that ended his life.

"Astrid," Destiny whispers, and I realize she's crying too, "this is perfect. So, so perfect..." Destiny traces the outline of dads face with her finger before carefully flipping the page back.

"Dad's boat," she smiles at the picture.

"Miss Mermaid," I say feebly, speaking the name Dad gave to his beloved catamaran.

Destiny flips another page back, "The beach." She's right - it's the beach Dad took us as a child.

Destiny turns one more page and begins to cry harder. "Astrid, you shouldn't have," she whispers.

"Shouldn't have what?" I whisper back.

"Tortured yourself like this," she says, her words barely audible.

She's looking at the picture. The picture. The furious waves, the raging storm, the catamaran tossed around in the middle of the ocean. Tossed around like Mother Nature was swatting off a fly. Mother Nature - the ocean - the storm - none of them cared about the one insignificant life in that boat, or the family that depended on that one life. The ocean didn't care that that life ended. After all, the ocean is no one's friend.

* * *

"Throw it harder, Astrid! Do you want the Capitol to see you as a weakling?" My trainer shouts at me. I almost drop my ninja star, but am quick enough to grab the circle of steel blade before it falls, which could have resulted in the loss of several of my precious toes.

"Wait - what?" I ask, flustered. "The Capitol? Why does the Capitol care how well I'm training?"

"For the Hunger Games, you moron. Now throw your star."

"Rewind - did you just say Hunger Games?" I stare at my trainer in disbelief.

"Why Astrid, I didn't take you to be deaf!" My trainer snaps at me sarcastically. "Yes I said Hunger Games, stupid girl. You're volunteering this year."

"I'm doing what?" I mutter, mostly to myself.

"What do you think years of training were for? For fun?"

"Definitely not for fun," I snap. "Otherwise I would have gotten away from you years ago."

My trainer ignores my comment and speaks again, "I've been waiting for this day since I handed you your first weapon ten years ago when you were six!"

"But -" I stutter, unable to put my fear into words. "What will happen to Mom if I don't come back?"

"You idiot child, you're coming back. Do you think I would waste all my time training a tribute? I train Victors!" I throw my ninja star and, although I didn't particularly try to, the deadly star soars towards my trainer. My trainer is fast - he ducks and the star flies past him and lodges itself into the wall behind him.

"You, stupid, stupid, little girl," my trainer frowns at me. "Your mother is volunteering you, whether you like it or not."

* * *

Luant Sarvor

_The sun is starting to set. Usually, I end my swimming when night starts to arrive, but on a dare, my friend and I were spending the entire night swimming in the bay. Not that it scares me. Swimming is my life._

_"Hey Dante! Luant!" Our friend Milo shouts from on the beach. "My Dad has a camera and he's letting me borrow it. We're gonna film you all night to make sure you don't chicken out."_

_"We all know you're the only chicken around here, Milo," Dante shouts as he treads water. "Nothing will get me out of these waters!" Dante does a little dive, as if to prove his point. I laugh._

_"You can film us if that really makes you happy. But we're not coming out anyways," I call. Milo, one of my closest friends, just rolls his eyes and leaves the camera on a tripod before dashing off._

_Then Dante and I are alone. "Now what?" Dante asks me._

_"I guess we just tread water all night," I answer._

_"Oh, c'mon, that's boring. How about -"_

_Two figures appear at the beach, faintly visible in the setting sun. Astrid and Destiny Fae. Dante lets out a low whistle. "Care to join us, lovely ladies?" That's Dante for you - always a jokester._

_"Dante, get out of the water," Destinies melodic voices rides over to us, familiar from years of training together at the academy. "You too, Luant."_

_"Someone's not in a good mood," Dante pouts._

_"She's serious, both of you." It's Astrid who speaks this time, the quieter of the sisters. Her one streak of blonde stands out from the rest of her dark brown hair in the dim light. Destiny's hair is auburn, mixed with a fiery red, as it always is._

_"Are you doubting us, girls?" I shout teasingly. "We're from District Four!"_

_"Never mistake the ocean for kind," Destiny says mysteriously._

_"The ocean is fair, nothing more," Astrid finishes. With that, they walk of together._

_"I've thought plenty of things about those girls," Dante says. "But never that they were insane._

_"Their dad just died, you know," I say slowly. "His boat went down in a storm and their mom went crazy, thinking he was coming back when he never will."_

_"That won't happen to me!" Dante laughs. "The ocean is my lapdog!" Dante means to be joking around, but when I don't respond, the night is deadly silent and the lingering thought of his words seem eerie. To me, it feels like the ocean is just taking in his taunt, sizing him up, and preparing itself. What do they always say? The calm before the storm - yah, that exactly._

_We tread in silence for a few minutes, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear as the darkness swallows up the bay. Suddenly, I hear a yelp from Dante. "What's wrong?" I say, more skittish than I'd like to admit._

_"Something brushed my-" Dante screams, an agonizing call broken by the sound of his head being dragged under the surface. The water bubbles for a second, then Dante rises again. "My, my, leg," he mutters. Although it's too dark to see the water color, I feel the water get thicker and know he's bleeding badly. Dante screams again and I grab his arm and begin to pull him to shore, ignoring the dare._

_I feel a yank of resistance and Dante is pulled away from me. He yowls in pain. I feel its presence before I see the shadowy outline of the fin. A shark. Dante moans as he is dragged farther out to see until, hauntingly, he falls silent. Dead. He's dead._

_Not sure what to do, I swim back to shore and watch, paralyzed. Not that I can see anything in the darkness anyways. But I can still hear Dante's agony._

I wake covered in cold sweat. It's just a dream, I tell myself. Except it's not. It's a memory. A memory that will never leave me alone.

* * *

Destiny Fae

I'm wearing a light green dress to the Reapings, with my hair swept into an up-do. Astrid is wearing a lilac colored dress that is long enough to cover her feet. I can tell hates it. She'd rather be combat boots throwing her ninja stars at people.

She's always been like that - she'd rather get shot with an arrow or sliced by a sword than deal with her emotions. That doesn't make her any less caring, or any less fragile.

We get our fingers pricked and walk together to the sixteen year old section together. We're not twins - I'm ten months older than Astrid - but since my birthday's not for another month, we are always in the same age group at the Reapings.

"Do you think mom will actually volunteer us?" I ask. Our trainers had talked to my mom and convinced her to volunteer us for the Games. She's so weak mentally that she'll go along with anything. We could tell her that all the Capitolites were being shipped off to another planet and Astrid was the new President and she would believe us.

"I don't know," Astrid replies honestly. Mom's mentally weak - she goes along with anything, but she also forgets just about everything.

Soon, the video has started. It says some lies about how the Hunger Games are necessary and then our idiot escort sulks onto the stage. It doesn't matter what the video says. The Hunger Games are cruel and inhumane, and Astrid agrees with me.

The escort, A Talisha, is literally a moron. She stands at an impressive ten feet tall, but two feet of that are her high heels. She had hideous orange hair and purple and green spots all over her skin, but that's not what makes her stupid.

Rumors say that as a child, she was obsessed with a caveman reality TV show because, to this day, she communicates in sentences with no more than three words.

"Good... Grrrr... Games," she manages to say. "Urggg, girls..." She reaches into the girl's bowl.

I hear my mom's shout from the back of the audience. "I volunteer!" My hope flutters away as Mom arrives on stage. She remembered.

"Grrr... Kids..." A Talisha mumbles. Astrid and I smile as we hold hands and run to the stage together. She looks fearless, but I can feel her hands shaking.

* * *

Farley Sarvor

I can't help but see the face of my friend in the girl tributes. Savannah Seas, her name was, before she became just another face in the sky. She's so lucky. She got to be in the Hunger Games! It's in her honor that I am having my father volunteer my brother and I. I wonder what Savannah would say if she knew that I'm going into the Games. She used to love the Games, before she died. Maybe that's why I want to volunteer. I think I loved her, but I'm not sure.

Despite my black suit and matching short black hair, along with my green eyes that are often considered charming, I don't look my best today. Luant was screaming all night. He won't tell me why, so I don't push him for information. All I can think is that the nightmares must be terrifying to make someone as invincible as my brother scream. Anyways, anyone can tell I was deprived of my sleep.

I hardly notice the name that is Reaped. Listening to our escort is always a trying task. I look to my brother where he stands in the eighteen's section from my spot in the fifteen's. Despite the age gap, and his blue eyes, we look very similar. With perfect timing, our dad, Garry Sarvor volunteers. He strides confidently up to the stage and Luant and I, knowing that A Talisha will just ask for the "Grrr... Kids..." anyways, follow him.

"Shake... Urrrrg... Hands," A Talisha grumbles. My smile as I shake hands with the female tributes is genuine, I've seen them several times before at the training academy and they seem likable. However, I love the Hunger Games. No likability will stop me from killing these girls.

**AN**

**Once again, thank you for reading my story. Thank you in particular to peeta6in6real6life for the Sarvor family and ClovelyLittleReader for the Fae family. Thank you, also, angelofmusic4ever for A Talisha. The SYOT is still open, so please fill out more forms for tributes, escorts, mentors, and stylists. Please review, favorite, and follow! Thanks.**

**-Oceane**


	4. District Seven Reapings

District Seven

CeCe Willow

Mom is terrified this year. The Reapings always scare her, but not this bad. For the past two years, Mom had been worried that I could be Reaped. I've had more than just luck to keep me alive this long - my mom owns the towns only butcher shop. Because of the steady flow of business, I've never had to take tesserae. Last year, Mom was calmer than I'd ever believed was possible. I guess she knew that my name was only in twice, and there was no possibility I could be selected. But this year, Carina is on the line too. Even worse, my Mom could lose both of us.

There's no doubt in my mind, or anyone's really, that Carina is the favorite child. She's exactly like my mom - sweet, compassionate, considerate. They have the same dirty blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes. This year was bound to be hard on my mom, because Carina is now twelve. My sister's not as strong as I am. She's too innocent and delicate. I've always been considered rebellious, or at least tough. I keep my hair in a pixie cut, but a rough one that people regard as tomboy-ish. It's always been my top priority to keep Carina safe.

While Carina is my Mom's favorite, my older sister cares for me. Cathie is nineteen, and she is exactly like me. Or more, I'm exactly like her. She's brave, independent, and good with an axe. She becomes about fifty percent more defensive when it comes to guarding Carina. Another thing we both have in common.

Cathie taught me how to swing an axe, and now I'm the best in my school. Although I don't have any need to cut trees for lumber or money, I still practice in the forest in our backyard. It's my only emotional release. And an emotional release is something I definitely need.

Unlike Carina and Mom, I believe Dad ran away. He said he was going on a trip to visit a brother a few towns over, but he never came back. Carina was only two, but Cathie was nine. She says that Dad was always sweet to Mom, that he bought her treats from the bakery and celebrated her birthday, but never really liked us kids.

Cathie says that Dad used to ignore us and never helped with raising Carina and I, being we were both toddlers. Mom was practically a single mother; she did all the cooking, cleaning, and she was the one who got us babysitters while her and Dad worked the butchers shop. The reason that Mom didn't see it was that Dad still loved her.

Carina and Mom believe that Dad is dead. They say he died on the travel there, or that something, anything, went wrong. They can't believe otherwise. When Cathie started to see that I was more like her and less like Mom, she told me her theory on Dad. That he ran away.

She also introduced me to the axe. Whenever times get rough, like when no one in the town can afford to buy from us, I get mad at Dad. He left us. If he hadn't run away, Mom wouldn't cry at night. Carina would have a father to protect her from the harsh realities. Cathie and I - we wouldn't have to always be strong for the others. The axe allows me to let it all go - I can take out my anger, my jealousy, my humility, my pain - on the tree. And when I walk away, I feel like somehow I'm standing on higher ground. Like I'm proving to my dad that I don't need him in my life to be strong. I hate him.

Now Mom is scared again. She could lose both Carina and I to the Quarter Quell. If Dad were here, someone other than Cathie could comfort her. Dad could help all of us.

I don't want to admit it, but I'm scared too. If we're Reaped, I will have protect Carina. With my life. And I might have to become a killer to keep her alive. Carina has to be a Victor, whether I'm with her or not. This year, Cathie won't be able to protect us. As much as I don't want her in the Hunger Games, I also wish there was someone who could watch my back.

* * *

"CeCe?" Carina knocks on my door. "CeCe, please, can I come in?"

"Yah," I say absentmindedly. We share a bedroom anyways, I have to let her in.

"I'm scared, CeCe," she says as she opens the door. I'm surprised to see that she's crying, but I know I shouldn't be.

"You'll be fine Carina," I say. "There are families with their names in the Reaping Bowls twenty, thirty, fifty times more than us." That's probably true, so she should know it.

"Were you scared?" She asks. "At your first Reapings, I mean."

I didn't cry. I didn't come to Cathie for help. But I was terrified. "Yes," I smile weakly. Carina lets out a small, choked sob. Apparently I answered that wrong. Carina walks over and sits next to me on my cot. I stroke her hair gently. "It's okay," I say, "being scared is absolutely normal."

"Cathie said she wasn't scared," Carina says quietly. I'm not sure how to answer this, so I just wrap my arms around her and hold her next to me. Carina can't be Reaped. She wouldn't make it out of the arena. "Cathie says I have to have courage, and I'm trying, but I don't know where to find any."

"Ignore Cathie," I say quietly. "Not everyone is invincible."

"Mom picked out an outfit for each of us," Carina changes the subject. She hands me a short dark green dress. I can't help but think that the dress is the same color as the forest.

"Where's your dress?" I ask. Carina pulls out a flowery pink dress. It's the same dress Mom wanted me to wear for my first Reaping. I refused, and together we decided on a plain lilac dress that Cathie wore for her Reapings once. Although I hated the pink dress, it was practically made for Carina. I'm glad Mom kept it.

"Well, what do you think?" Carina gazes up at me expectantly.

I smile at her, "It's beautiful."

* * *

Jay Spruce

"Chris, come out of your room!" Mom snaps. "We can't afford for you to be late for your Reapings."

"Mom, back off. He's scared. I'll get him," I say.

"Well, Jay, I won't feel guilty when the Peacekeepers shoot the lot of you. It's just fewer mouths for me to feed!"

"I know," I say as I enter the bedroom Chris and I share. Chris is laying on his mat on the floor, his face shoved in his pillow.

"J-Jay?" He looks up. He was sobbing, and I try to ignore the snot dripping off his chin.

"What's up Chris?" I smile.

"I'm gonna d-d-die!" Chris moans and throws his face back into the grimy pillow.

"Naw, I'm not coming after you yet. You're not that annoying," I elbow my sobbing brother.

"You're not funny," Chris snuffles. "This is real." He uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe the snot from directly under his nose.

"Hey, I'm sorry bud," I walk over to the table, the only real furniture in the room, and grab his glasses. I hand them to him and he cautiously takes them into his shaking hands and places them on his face.

"M-my glasses won't matter when I'm dead!" He wails.

"How do you come up with this stuff?" I ask him seriously. "I mean, you're heading to the Reapings and you're already asking about the fate of your glasses!" He begins to cry again.

"Jay!" My mom shouts. "I thought you were supposed to be moving your brother out of his room, not disappearing with him! You can cry after we get back home."

"You heard the witch," I tease. "Get moving!"

Chris goes back to moping, so I quickly change into a pair of clean pants and a polo shirt. Since Chris still isn't moving, I drag him out of our room in the torn shirt and stained pants he's wearing.

Mom takes one look at Chris before yelling at me. "You call that a Reaping outfit?"

"Mom, there was no way he could get changed. He can't stand up on his own," I say. "See?" I let go of Chris and he collapses to the floor.

Mom sighs and eventually nods, "That'll have to do."

* * *

Mother isn't really a witch. I don't give her enough credit. She's actually just stressed. It's hard raising two boy's without a father.

He died while out chopping trees. They were stacking logs onto the back of a wagon when the balance of the tower of lumber wavered and the wood came crashing down, smashing my father. He was so obliterated that they couldn't even gather the remains of his body to return to my mother.

I was pretty young when it happened, but old enough to understand that we were in trouble. Knowing my family was desperate for a source of income, I managed to get hired to clean at the local bakery. I kept that job until I was old enough to start becoming a lumberjack, like my father. Mother ran a daycare business, and Chris continued to mope, which is practically the only thing he's good at.

Chris does enough whining for both of us, so I try not to complain. But I remember a mother who was caring, sensitive, and considerate. I can't help but think that when those logs fell, I didn't lose one parent, but two.

* * *

Carina Willow

I'm not sure if the memory is real or not, but I think I remember my dad telling me something about my Reapings. He died when I was two, so I was too young to know if the thought is real or a dream.

"You know what they say?" My dad asks. "Having your first Reaping as a Quarter Quell is bad luck."

That's all I remember. It's just my dad's head looming over me, talking to me quietly. I'd actually forgotten about the memory until today. Now I'm mulling over the words in my head.

Today is my first Reaping, and now I'm standing alone in the twelve year old section. My finger is still stinging from the finger prick, the little red spot where my blood was drawn raw to the cold wind.

"Carina!" I look to see CeCe shouting at me from her section. I smile in her direction and she seems to perk up.

Then the escort enters the stage, and it is a sight no one can miss. From head to toe, she is solid blue. Her eyes are blue, her knee length hair is blue, all her clothes are various shades of blue, and even her skin is a pale shade of blue. It honestly looks like she got on the wrong side of a paintball fight. The girl next to me giggles.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort, Haven Armani, says playfully into the microphone, "to the Quarter Quell and 175th Hunger Games! May the Odds be Ever in your Favor!" Haven smiles, showing her blue teeth.

No one reacts to her, but braces them self with the possibility of being chosen. "Oh, the excitement is killing me!" Bad word choice, Haven. "Alright, time for the girls! So much tension!" She walks over to the girls bowl and begins to pick up a slip, but then drops it. "Sorry," she apologizes, "that name just didn't feel right." She reaches back in and selects a slip quickly.

"I need... Christina Willow!" I hear a scream and, for a second, think it is my own, but then realize it was my mom, who is crying at the back of the crowd. Peacekeepers come forward and she forces herself to stand up and walk to the stage. "You look amazing," Haven smiles. "I like the blue skirt."

"Now I need Christina's daughters!"  
That's when I feel the first tears. They pour down my face, soaking my pink dress. I look to see CeCe walking forward, looking indifferent.

"CeCe!" I scream. Trying not to trip, I run to her, shoving kids out of my way. She turns and runs towards me and it's not long before I'm in her warm embrace. She clasps my hand and we walk to the stage together.

* * *

Chris Spruce

I'm crying even before the action starts. "Now it's time to Reap the boys!" Haven squeals. What if I get picked? I'm gonna die! I moan and fall to the floor as she places her hand in the bowl. "This year's tributes will be the sons of..." I'm too busy crying to watch Haven, "Maple Spruce!" From the back of the stadium, mom starts making her way up the stage.

I start sobbing harder than earlier, burying my face into the dirt. When I look up, Peacekeepers are dragging me onto the stage. I think about resisting, but I'm too tired. Instead I allow my body to be pulled across the ground, hitting rocks on the way.

Jay is already on the stage, muttering some things under his breath. "What's your name, dear?" Haven asks.

"Jay Spruce," he says before he kicks the microphone stand. Haven catches it before it crashes to the ground.

Finally I'm being dragged up the steps to the stage. I curl into a ball on the corner. Jay has to speak for me when Haven asks for my name. "That's my brother Chris," he says. "He's not usually like this." That's a lie.

I think they're shaking hands, because I soon feel one of the girls patting my back, trying to get me to stand up. It doesn't matter what anybody does. I'm never moving again.

**AN**

**Welcome back! Thank you angelofmusic4ever for the Willow family and Haven, and Brian for the Spruce family. One more tribute spot opened up, District One Male, so feel free send in tributes! There are also several more mentor, escort, and stylist spots open. Thanks for reading! Reviews, favorites, and follows are helpful. **

**Happy New Year!**

**- Oceane**


	5. District Three Reapings

Kenji Huang

"And don't you come back!" I drop the kid and he falls to the ground, clutching his nose. "You hear me?" The kid starts to cry, trying to curl into a ball. "I said, do you hear me?"

"Yes, yes," the kid moans.

"Good," I kick him one last time for good measure. I turn around to see Bayon, my sixteen year old sister, leaning against the wall. "My work here is done. That kid won't come back on the gang's streets again."

"If you say so," she shrugs. Before I can say anymore, Beyon is running off through the streets. I hate it when she does that. She's by far the fastest runner I know, so I decide to check the rest of the back streets instead of follow her.

It's Reaping day, so no one's out. When I return to the street I started on, the kid is gone, but I can see his blood. That'll teach him to stay away from my gang.

Shenji, Bayon's twin, instantly comes to mind. He always asks me how it's possible that I feel absolutely no guilt. I never really know how to answer, because I don't understand the concept of guilt in the first place. Blood makes a lot more sense.

Since there's nothing interesting going on today, I head down an alley until I'm at the window. I smashed it open a long time ago. The building is abandoned, so I've taken over it.

I jump up and swing through the window, landing on my feet in the building. I open up an old dresser and look in to see my knife collection.

I've gotten my knives from a lot of different places. Some I've stolen. Some I've won from fights. A few I've even bought. I pull out my favorite, one I stole from the Head Peacekeepers house, and tighten my grip on it.

It's a beautiful knife, encrusted with rubies on the handle. The blade is sharp enough that I would draw blood to my hand just by touching the edge. I don't think the Head Peacekeeper ever used it.

Spinning on my heel I slam the knife forwards. It soars out of my hand and towards the portrait hanging on the wall. The nails itself into the heart of the painted lady, and in the dim light, I retrieve my blade.

I throw my knife again, and this time it hits the center of the target I drew onto a couch. I use every piece of furniture in the abandoned building for target practice.

Leaving the knife buried in the sofa, I step back to the dresser and select four knives at random. I hold two knives in each hand and prepare for my next attack. Two knives are released at once, both from my right hand, and head towards the couch. As soon as I feel the metal leave my hand, I spin and release the other two knives. They implant themselves in the center of the table legs, one on the right and the other on the left. When I turn back around, I see that the first knives are in the center of the couch target, next to my favorite knife.

I use my muscle to yank the knives out of the table, and then easily pull them out of the fluff in the couch. Placing my knives back in their drawer, I charge and jump out the broken window, and land perfectly on the cracked street outside.

* * *

Shenji Huang

"Really, Shenji?" Cara giggles.

"Really. And your eyes - they remind me of little stars. They're making up this beautiful constellation."

"What's the constellation, Shenji?"

"I believe it's named Cara," I grin.

"Shenji, you are the best boyfriend ever!" She smiles as I run my fingers through her blonde hair. I lean in closer to her.

Suddenly, laughter is erupting from the corner of the room. I turn to see my twin sister, Bayon. "Bayon, get out!" I can feel the blood rushing to my face in embarrassment. Cara is blushing too.

"Whatever," Bayon rolls her eyes at me. "Mom sent me in to tell you that the Reapings are starting in an hour, so you need to change. But, I found you're little scene amusing enough to watch." Bayon puts on a straight face. "Cara, get out of here. I believe you are sixteen, and very much eligible for the Reapings too."

Cara skitters out of the room and Bayon continues to stand in the corner silently. Bayon has always been my best friend, but there are some things I hate about her. Like that she spies on me. She's quiet, sneaky, and secretive - all the things I'm not. And she uses it against everyone.

"Bayon, honestly, don't you have better things to do with your time than watch me?"

"Oh, I have plenty of better things to do. Serious things. Sometimes I just need comic relief," Bayon gives me one of her twisted smiles.

"Fine, just, whatever," I shake my head. "Now get out of my room so I can put my Reaping outfit on."

"See you later," she turns and steps out of my room, her feet not making a sound.

* * *

I look in the mirror and nod at myself. I'm definitely handsome. No wonder the girls fall for me. I'm one of the only tan kids in District Three, despite the fact that I do work a lot as a trainee for the mine blowing department of the Hunger Games.

I'm learning how to set up mines in the arena, and am very good at making and disarming them. Although I don't have a photographic memory like Beyon, I'm really good at memorizing mechanical codes and patterns.

I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my blue eyes and messy brown hair. There is evidence that I once had a face full of freckles, but those are mostly gone now. It does let me look much more mature.

I pat the last wrinkles out of my suit and step into the hall. Bayon is waiting in the hall for me, wearing a short black dress. She looks great, Mom always spent more money on Beyon than on her two sons. I don't see my older brother Kenji anywhere, and I honestly don't care. Every time I try to talk to him, I end up with a bloody nose.

"You ready for the Reapings?" Bayon asks.

"I've done this every year, lets just get this over with," I shrug.

We walk out the door and through the dirty streets, in between the concrete warehouses. I hear rats and orphans skittering around deep in the allies, probably trying to avoid my brother. He's ruthless.

Soon Bayon and I are in line to get registered. When my finger gets pricked, I flinch involuntarily. I can just feel Bayon smirking at me from behind me.

"C'mon," she rolls her eyes. "Lets get to the sixteen section." We make our way through the terrified twelve and thirteen year olds, the skittish fourteen and fifteen year olds, and finally to the restless sixteen year olds.

It isn't long before the escort Tiberius Clawfire has walked onto the stage. His fiery hair contrasts greatly with his dark skin, and his yellow eyes remind me of a cat. No one really knows much about him, except that he isn't the typical escort. He's not perky and obnoxious. If anything, he's mysterious.

He tells us in a level voice about the terrible Rebellion, and how the Hunger Games were designed to remind the Districts of their sacrifice. He also explains the purpose of the Quarter Quell, and how entire families died. I mostly ignore him.

He finally makes a comment that grabs my attention, and I can tell Bayon is shocked too. "Boys first," Tiberius says. For the first time, I check for my brother Kenji. He looks bored, like he wasn't thrown off at all by the change in order. I'm partially surprised that he showed up at the Reapings at all.

"This years male tributes will be the sons of..." Tiberius grabs a name, "Natasha Huang." I watch as my Mom carefully makes her way up to the stage, holding her head, and her dignity, high. "Natasha's sons, please come forward."

Bayon's staring at me, but I'm not moving, I'm just staring ahead. I want to move, I really do, but I've forgotten how to move my feet, and, heck, what are feet?

Then I feel a strong hand wrap around my wrist and I think it's a Peacekeeper, but when I look up, I see Kenji. I prepare to get punched, but instead, he starts pulling me forward. "We're gonna make it out of that arena," he seethes.

I follow him, but I'm even more stunned than before. That's the nicest thing Kenji's said to me in my entire life.

"What are your names?" Tiberius asks.

"Shenji," I mutter.

"Kenji," my brother says, his voice low.

Bayon catches my eye from the middle of the crowd, and for the first time in my life, I think she looks worried.

* * *

Bayon Huang

My brothers got Reaped. _My brothers got Reaped._ How did this happen? This wasn't supposed to happen!

Kenji can make it. That much I know. He meets all the criteria of a Victor. He's ruthless, strong, brave, and amazing with a knife and hand to hand combat. He can win. It's Shenji I worry about.

Shenji is smart and he can activate and deactivate bombs with lightning speed. But he couldn't really win, on his own at least. If him and Kenji made a team, they could be unstoppable, but I'm not sure Kenji would actually do that. Kenji has no sympathy, not even for his own brother.

Now I'm trying to come up with what to say to convince Kenji to help Shenji, and how to convince Shenji to trust Kenji. The thing is, I don't think Shenji should trust Kenji. Goodbyes are soon! I have to come up with something to say.

"Now for the girls," Tiberius says. "This years female tributes will be the daughters of..." Tiberius moves over to the girls bowl, "Natasha Huang!" Tiberius stares in awe at my mom. "It's like a family reunion up here!" Kenji turns and slaps Tiberius. I can see the anger in his eyes like flames. I feel the same hatred burning inside of me.

I march up to the stage, mad at Tiberius, mad at the world. Soon I'm in front of the microphone. The words are pouring out of my mouth before I know what I'm saying. "This, I have to say Tiberius, is the most interesting family reunion I've had yet!" I turn and kick him in the shin and now Tiberius is stumbling back, clutching the spot on his face where Kenji slapped him and hobbling on the leg I didn't kick.

Serves him right. After I win these games, I never want to see another Capitol person again.

**AN**

**Welcome back to my story! I hope you have enjoyed it so far. Thank you tasherekalb for the Huang family and bumbleinmich for Tiberius. I sincerely apologize to Tiberius for what he was forced to endure in this chapter, but it was necessary. A family reunion indeed!**

**I apologize if this chapter was a little shorter than normal. The female tribute point of view was only displayed once because Beyon is already introduced through the eyes of Kenji and Shenji.**

**Lastly, I'm introducing sponsor points. I meant to do this earlier, I apologize for being so late. This means that through different acts (such as reviewing) you can earn points towards buying supplies for your tributes and your favorite tributes. If you check my profile (and below), you can see how many points you and your fellow readers have earned. Directly below is the list of actions and their point value (this is also on my profile):**

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**Thanks for reading and please review to let me know how I did!**

**- Oceane**


	6. District Five Reapings

Binix Laufey

I watch as Riley steps into the cafe, ready to take her shift. Her bright red hair is flying around in front of her face, which surprises me, because she usually keeps it pulled back tight. When I see the clock, I'm even more startled than before. Riley is late, which never happens. She's probably one of the most organized people I know.

"You're late," I smirk in her direction. Her eyes brighten, like she just noticed that I'm standing here.

"Sorry, Binix," she says as she tries to compose herself. "My shift is cancelled for the Reapings. I was at home getting ready when I realized you were probably still here." I look over her, her messy hair, her wrinkled shirt, and decide to believe that she's not lying. That doesn't mean I won't give her a hard time.

"Well, it's high time you show up. You're going to owe me, red-head," I scowl at her.

"Shut up Binix. If you had my shift, you wouldn't have come to get me at all," Riley snaps and steps out of the shop. "Oh, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"I'd love to say that -" I start to shout at Riley, but she is already around the street corner.

I sigh and start to clean up the cafe, where I have worked for two years now. When I was fourteen, I gave up on relying on my elders and took life into my own hands, getting hired here. It's not like adults have ever helped me anyways.

The moment I was born, my parents gave me up for adoption. Some old lady took care of me for a while, but eventually decided that I was too much work. That sent me into a lifetime of moving from foster home to foster home, some parents caring for me and others disgusted by the mere sight of me. I knew by the age of ten that I couldn't rely on other humans.

I became an expert thief, sneaking out when my foster parents weren't looking and stealing money from pedestrians and food from vendors. Most of the time, my foster parents didn't even realize I was missing.

That worked great for a few years, until I was caught. Peacekeepers, my least favorite people in the world, were patrolling a market I regularly robbed and one saw me. They started a chase and I ran frantically through the streets, trying to escape.

One Peacekeeper pulled out a crossbow and shot at me, grazing the skin of my exposed arm. I managed to bandage it later, but I still have the scar.

I was slowing down when a hand shot out a side alley and dragged me into the shadows. I tried to scream, but the person covered my mouth and I was forced to hold still.

That's when I realized the person was helping me. Peacekeepers ran by me, some only a foot away from me, but huddled in the shadows, no one saw me. When the coast was clear, the person stepped into the light and I saw that it was a boy, only a year older than me.

He introduced himself as Konach, but told me to call him Lock. I asked him why he decided to help me, and he told me that he couldn't stand to see a little girl get whipped. I was thirteen at the time, and protested that I was not a little girl and did not need his help, but he calmed me down and soon I was listening intently as he told me the stories of all his adventures on the streets.

The next day I met him again in the same alley, and this time he had something with him I had hardly ever seen before - a book. He told me to read it, that he could tell I was the type who loved a good adventure, but I couldn't. I had never learned to read.

I came back every day, and Lock taught me how to read. Lock became my only friend, and I found comfort in the fact that Lock was also a foster child. Someone else in the world knew how I felt. I guess something about knowing him made me more human, and I gave up on thievery and got myself hired at the cafe.

Meanwhile, I grew closer and closer to Lock, telling him about my nightmares and my worries, and all my horrendous foster parents, and in exchange, he gave me stories. Sometimes the stories were in the form of books, which I could finally read, and other times, the stories were his own. Those were my favorite.

I was fifteen when Lock first kissed me. He told me that I had grown up so much from the little girl he saved on the streets and that, if he ever lost me, he, he wouldn't have anything but books left. And he told me he loved our story so much more than any book he'd ever read.

I lock the cafe up and head towards my current foster home, the Laufey family. They're kinder than most of the families I've been with. Maee, my foster mother, is sweet and gentle, loving me like her own daughter. Fausae, my foster father, is harsher, but he really just wants the best for his family. They also have a son, Cain 'Cay', who is theirs and not a foster child like me. He's a very protective older brother, arrogant and a flirter, but he cares about me.

The Laufey's home is small and humble, but I've grown used to it, and it is better than a lot of what I've lived in. I stride inside and head to my room, a loft I share with the other foster child the Laufeys take care of.

I immediately see the other foster child, holding up a light blue polo shirt in his hands. He turns around when he hears me enter the room. "Hey Binix," Lock smiles.

* * *

When I was fifteen, I moved in with the Laufeys. I was stunned to see that Lock was also in their care. Lock became my foster brother exactly two weeks after he became my boyfriend, but that didn't change anything, not really. We decided to not let the Laufeys know anything, and act like we just met. I wasn't ready to lose my boyfriend under the pretense of being family.

I grab an orange dress, one that I've worn to the Reapings for the past few years, and head to the bathroom to change. I love this dress because Lock tells me that it looks great with my short brown hair and makes my grey eyes look like they have little flecks of gold in them.

Another reason I love it is that it shows my scar, the one the Peacekeeper with the crossbow gave me. I always think that, if I get Reaped, it will make me look tough.

The dress also shows the tattoo I got on my right bicep. Lock convinced me to get the tattoo with him. My tattoo is of a broken bird cage. His is of a songbird flying free.

* * *

Cain Laufey

"That'll be four silver," Annabelle says. Annabelle's father is the man I usually buy eggs from, but when Annabelle is working, I can usually manage a bargain.

"Belle, what do you take me to be? The mayor's son?" I tease.

"I can't give you a discount just because you're charming," Annabelle says seriously.

"That's all I am to you? A good charmer?" I smile. "Belle, I've known you since I was seven. Can't you do me a favor?"

"Cay, we only met last year!" Annabelle laughs.

"Really?" I smile as I grab a few eggs and start to juggle them. "It feels like I've known you forever!" I continue to juggle the eggs, tossing each one higher and higher.

"Cay! If you drop those, you'll have to pay double!" Belle giggles.

"Well if that's the policy, I'll have to go shop somewhere else, my lovely lady," I say as I set the eggs down.

"Fine, Cay," Belle laughs. "Three silver. But don't you let my father find out about this! He'll kill me without any Hunger Games!"

"Well in that case," I say as I take the eggs, "may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

"I'm back!" I say as I swing the back door to my home open. "And I - have eggs."

"Eggs!" My mom smiles. "How did you afford those?" Her face turns serious. "You didn't steal them, did you?"

"No, mother. Who do you take me to be? Binix?" I say as my mom gives me an only half withering stare. "Speaking of the rascal, where is she? Binix? Lock! We have eggs!"

My mom starts to cook the eggs on a pan as Binix and Lock run down the stairs. Their coordinating tattoos are showing in bold black ink.

"Why wasn't I invited to get those with you?" I ask.

"You were too busy flirting with Annabelle," Lock rolls his eyes.

"And Julia," Binix adds.

"And Christie," Lock finishes, and my foster siblings smile.

"Oh, it's not like I'm dating anyone," I smile. "And if you were half as amazing as me, Lock, you would know what it's like to have all the girls in town swooning for you."

"Boys," mom snaps. "Eat up," she serves us the eggs. "Reapings start soon."

"Yes," I say. "After this, it's off to the Reapings with us!"

* * *

Binix Laufey

After we have our fingers pricked, we make our way to our age groups. I head to the sixteens, Lock to the seventeens, and Cay to the eighteens.

I watch as Cay shouts taunts at the Peacekeepers, who absolutely despise him. They've been enemies for years, but Cay never tells me why.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" City Massito, our escort, walks onto the stage, her arms flying out in a flourish of purple nail polish. The nail polish coordinates well with her purple eyes and bright pink hair.

Our escort loves the Games and the enthusiasm as she talks about the failed rebellion is authentic. Then she gets the action. "As always, ladies first!"

"This years female tribute will be the daughter of... Fusae Laufey!" I wait for a moment before the news sinks in. I'm only a foster daughter, but the Capitol doesn't care. I've been Reaped.

I make my way towards the stage, trying to weigh my options. I decide on smiling, to win some sponsors.

"What's your name?" City asks.

"Binix," I say.

"Binix Laufey?" City confirms.

"No, just Binix. I'm no one's daughter."

* * *

Konach Laufey

Binix's been Reaped. Binix, the girl from the streets, the girl who continued to run despite an arrow hitting her arm. The girl I taught how to read. The girl who has had dozens of foster parents. The girl with the birdcage tattoo. The invincible girl. My girl. And she might never come home.

She's standing strong, like she always does. I don't think anyones ever seen her cry. City moves across the stage, her long pink dress swaying. "Now for the boys! I need the sons of... Maee Laufey!"

I hear a short yelp as Binix collapses to the ground. It takes me a second to realize what's happening. Binix is sobbing. I run to the stage, Cay right behind me. "Binix!" I grab her hand. "Binix, stand up!"

City smiles. "It'll be so cute watching you die together!" Suddenly Binix is standing up, flying up, her fist in front of her. She swings at City, hits, and watches City crumple back. She's done crying now.

That's my girl.

* * *

**AN**

**What did you think of my chapter? Thank you LokiThisIsMadness for the Laufey family, and the escort City. Thank you, all my readers, for keeping up with my story. Who was your favorite tribute? What did you think of all of them?**

**Now, just a reminder, there is one tribute spot still open (District Ten Males) and I will bring the amount of points up to twenty points if you send in a sibling set for them. Also, there are two stylist spots and one escort spot open, and I will raise those up to ten points each. Let's close this SYOT!**

**One more announcement: although several SYOT's have trivia questions at the end of each chapter that readers can answer for points, I will not be doing that. I decided on an alternative - a quote. I will have a quote from the Hunger Games books at the end of each chapter and if you correctly say (in a review) who said the quote, you can earn five sponsor points.**

**Thank you, and please favorite, follow, and review!**

**"We had to save you because you're the mockingjay, Katniss," ... "While you live, the revolution lives."**

**~Oceane**


	7. District Six Reapings

Lana McLellan

The air reeks of gasoline, and the heat of the factory comes from both the monstrously sized machines and the hundreds of sweaty bodies. I examine each tire as it runs down the extension line, making sure each has the right amount of sipes, grooves, lugs, and voids in the tread pattern.

My eyesight is blurred from the humidity and the stench, but I still manage to look over each wheel of rubber. Eventually, I see one that doesn't meet code; not enough rain grooves and an asymmetrical pattern. I lift it off the track and swing it over a metal rim into the 'DISCARD' pile.

My arms sting and scream, for the tire is not an ordinary tire. It's a tire for a Peacekeeper Hummer, and weighs just under one hundred pounds. I'm strong and accustomed to lifting the heavy weight, but I've had so little food in the past week that I can hardly stand up straight, much less lift tires.

Just one more hour, and I'm coming home, I think to myself. Somewhere in the factory, I hear the screams of someone collapsing from the tiring work. Like most people, they probably haven't had a break in hours, in the hopes that they'll get enough money to feed their families for the day. That's my only desire right now - food.

I continue to work, lifting the heavy tires and tossing them behind me, repeating the strenuous work again and again. Finally, the hour is up and another worker comes to take my place. "You hear the news?" The incoming worker, a woman in her thirties, whispers to me.

"What news?" In the back of my mind, I'm hoping the Reapings are cancelled, but I know that won't happen.

"They droppin' the wage to two silver a day," the woman says, her voice strained.

"Two silver? They can't do that!" I glare at the woman, angry she made my Reaping day even worse.

"They done it," the woman says. "They don't care 'bout us. You hear 'bout that woman who passed out earlier today?" I remember hearing her scream, I think to myself. "The boss threw her onto the street and she hasn't woken up. She might be dead from over exhaustion, but the boss don't care."

I ignore the woman and march out of the manufacturing factory room. I head down to the first floor, where the offices are. When I reach the treasurer's office, I pound my fist against her door. The treasurer, a short and meek woman with tidy gray hair swept into a bun, opens the door. She steps back when she sees me, and I don't blame her. My normally curly hair is matted into clumps and although my hair is naturally white blonde, it is greasy enough that it looks brown. My clothes are stained, and I know I smell horrid.

"I'm here to collect my pay," I growl.

The treasurer scurries into her office and asks for my name. I tell her, and soon she is scurrying out again, holding a small satchel. The label on the side says ten silver. She hands the money to me.

"I worked extra hours all week, and all I get is a measly ten silver?" I shout at the treasurer. "Twenty silver a week was hard enough, but ten? I won't survive, you evil woman!"

"Sorry miss," the treasurer backs away. "This is boss's orders."

"Well tell him-" I start to shout at her, but the treasurer backs into her office and slams the door. Holding my pathetic ten silver, I storm out of the front door and onto the street.

I start to make my way down the street until I hear a moan. I turn and see that, lying in the shadows, is a woman. This has to be the woman they threw on the street. She looks dehydrated, but I don't know how I could help her. So I walk on, ignoring the moaning woman. Someone else can help her.

I make my way down the filthy factory allies until I arrive in the nicer streets. Although these streets are safer and smell better, this is my least favorite part of my walk home. All the merchants live in their comfortable little homes and have their cozy little shops on these streets. The merchant children play hopscotch on these streets, and their clothes are always washed and ironed.

The worst part is that I used to play with them. I used to have better clothes than all of the merchant's children. I used to be the richest girl in the District. Not anymore, obviously. And it's humiliating, having to walk through the streets of my childhood friends. They still have nice clothes, and plenty of food. I don't, and I never will again, because my mother doesn't care about me. My mother is a Victor, but she doesn't want me, or my little sister. I fend for myself.

I finally make my way to the baker's shop, and step inside. I dump eight silver onto the bakers table, and he hastily steps up to the counter. He looks disgusted by the sight of me, but I remember when I played with his daughter in school, and he treated me like his own daughter. "Two loaves of whole wheat," I say. I know I should buy one and come back later in the week for more, but I can't bring myself to coming to this shop more than I need to.

The baker hands me two loaves and I hope that it will be enough to last for a week. I take the bread without a look in the baker's direction and leave. I head to where the cheapest water pump in town is and grab a pail. I insert my last two silver into the pump and it activates. I pump the water into my pail until the water gets cut off. Then I take my two loaves and the pail of water and head home.

My home is nothing more than a shack, without electricity and running water. I share it with my younger sister Yasmine and my father. My father has been very ill lately, fighting a merciless case of pneumonia. I am the families only source of income, because Yasmine is fifteen and still goes to school. I'm seventeen and, although I was a straight A student, I had to quit school to work in the factories.

"Yasmine," I call as I swing the creaky wooden front door open. "Come eat."

"Where are the other two loaves?" Yasmine asks as she gets up from her mat on the floor. Our home is only two rooms, so one half of the main room has a table and some chairs for eating and the other side has Yasmine and my own sleeping mats. The other room is my fathers bedroom.

"They cut my pay in half," I growl. "This is all we have."

"Two loaves?" Yasmine looks at me in horror. "We can't live an entire week on two loaves of bread!"

"This is all we're getting," I say. "I just won't eat today."

"But you must be starving!" Yasmine says quietly.

"I am. Now," I say as I begin to cut the first loaf, "you can have this piece. I'm going to bring a piece to Dad."

Yasmine nods and I take a piece in my hand and walk to my father's room. I step inside to see him laying weakly in his bed. "Lana?" He croaks.

"It's me dad," I say and hand him a piece of bread. "Eat up, I'm coming back with water." He begins to eat his bread and I walk out to my kitchen to grab the pail of water. Yasmine watches with thirsty eyes as I take the water away.

"I'm back dad," I say as I enter his room. I'm glad to see that he ate his bread. I set the pail down by his bedside and cup my hands, scooping up precious, cool water. Father leans his head back and I let the water trickle into his mouth. He needs more, but I can't give him more. This needs to last a week. I take the pail and leave the room.

Yasmine and I both take small drinks before setting the pail down in the corner of the room. As I begin to put the bread away, I hear my father's weak coughs. If only Mom cared. Then, we'd all have a chance at survival.

* * *

My mom is a Victor of the Hunger Games. She is the richest woman in the District, and lives in a mansion in the Victor's Village. Up until the age of thirteen, I lived their with her, with Yasmine and Father. Then, one night, I heard raised voices coming from my parent's room.

The shouting continued for a while before Father stormed out if the room. He gave Yasmine and I some goodbyes and left. The next morning, my mom explained that she had kicked Father out. I asked her why and she just sent me to my room. Four months later, my mom had another child, but it was not Father's child. My mom had cheated on Father, but she introduced us to this new child's father and they married.

The child's name was Melody, and she was the most rotten baby anyone could hope for. She screamed all night and bit Yasmine and I. However, Melody isn't half as terrible as our stepfather. He was the meanest, cruelest stepfather in the District. He spoiled Melody but hated us. When I was fourteen, on my step-father's orders, Yasmine and I were kicked out to live with Father.

Existence has been a struggle ever since.

* * *

Melody Jackson

"Renay, get me another bagel," I snap. My mom, Renay, was getting ready to hand me a knife, as our last day of training is today, but she hesitantly sets it aside and heads to the kitchen. I'm hungry, and food is my favorite thing in the world. I won't train without more food.

"Here you go, Melody, darling," Renay says as she returns and hands me a chocolate chip bagel. My favorite.

"Now give me those knives!" I shout. Doesn't she realize that today is the Reapings? I need every second of training I can get. Lazy woman.

"Yes Melody," she hands me the knives she had earlier set down. I stab my bagel and laugh, imagining that it is one of my victims in the Hunger Games. I will be the Victor, and the most feared person in the District! I bite into my bagel, devouring it quickly before taking my knives and walking over to the dummies. I turn them on and watch as they jerk upright.

"Die!" I shout as I lunge towards the dummy. I lodge my knife into its side and quickly pull it out, spinning around to attack a dummy coming up behind me. I thrust my knife into its neck then turn around again to finish off the first dummy, who was injured but not yet dead. I pierce the heart of the dummy and run towards the third and final dummy.

I stumble and drop my knife, but there is no time to retrieve it. Instead I jump and fling myself onto the dummy. I lock my fingers around its neck and grip tighter. The dummy deactivates itself and I smile triumphantly.

"Nice work, sweetie," Renay says from the corner of the room.

"I know," I grin. "Now get me another something to eat."

* * *

I finish off the loaf of cinnamon bread with a frustrated grunt.

"Melody, you have to know this," Renay says. I stare at the picture she's holding up. Some small purple berries. Why do I have to know what those are?

"That's food," I say.

"No it's not," Renay frowns. "This is nightlock and it will kill you."

"I don't care!" I shout. "I will get all my food from the Cornucopia, and sponsors." I smile. The sponsors will love me.

Renay sighs and leaves the room. At least the woman's not entirely worthless. Today, she's volunteering me for the Hunger Games. I can't wait!

* * *

Colorado Oakland

My first Reapings. Today. I chew on my finger nails, too scared to move. I just got back from the factory, so all I taste is my own sweat. My brothers, fourteen year old Texas and fifteen year old Michigan, sit next to me as we cower.

None of us like the Hunger Games. They're terrifying! And with all the tesserae we've taken, the odds are anything but in our favor. Texas fiddles with his glasses and Michigan takes deep breaths, but I can tell they are both as scared as I am. We don't need to say anything.

I almost stand up to change into my Reaping outfit when I hear gunshots outside. Gunshots. The Rebellion!

Twice in the past month, rebels have managed to organize attacks. They run through the streets in groups of hundreds, shooting all the Peacekeepers they see. Of course, new Peacekeepers would come immediately after the attack to clean up, but out my window, I can always see the destruction before the Capitol can get rid of it.

Very few pedestrians are ever killed, but I'm still terrified. The gunshots sound louder and louder as the rebels get closer to our small house, and I start to cry. What if they shoot through the walls and kill me? What if I die before I've even had my first Reapings?

I hear the thundering footsteps of the rebels just outside my door, their guns aimed at the people of the Capitol. I thought I would get used to the attacks, as they've been happening all year long, but I never will. Just like I'll never get used to the Hunger Games.

The tie between the Capitol and the rebels strikes me then. I should have known they would attack today! Today is the Reapings! The rebels love it when they can be symbolic. Personally, I find the rebels as scary as the Capitol. Well, almost.

Texas, sitting next to me, starts to cry. Soon I'm following his lead, and Michigan. We all sit on the floor sobbing, fearful that we could lose our lives.

One thing I've always wondered, as I huddle in fear under attack, is how the rebels get guns. They have to have connections, but does that mean there's rebels in other Districts too? What if all of Panem falls apart? I start to moan.

Finally, the gunshots stop and I hear the telltale sound of new Peacekeepers cleaning up as much as they can before children start to leave for the Reapings. Michigan stands up and moves over to the chest where we keep our clothes and grabs our Reaping outfits for us. We quickly get changed into our outfits, our only nice clothes.

We walk into the main room where our mom, who also returned from the factory today, is waiting for us. She grabs my hand and rustles my dirty blonde hair before we take to the streets.

* * *

Texas Oakland

The streets are mostly clean now, but I can still see bullet holes in the windows and the blood on the ground. I start to whimper at the sight of it. Blood scares me. Actually, death scares me, to be specific. And spiders. And snakes. And the dark. Never mind! I try to forget what scares me and focus on what doesn't.

Colorado doesn't scare me. Or Michigan, and my mom, Hawaii. Butterflies don't scare me. That's all I can think of.

Soon we are at the line to the Reapings, where I wait for the inevitable finger prick. Michigan goes first, squeezing his eyes shut as the Capitol worker draws his blood. Next is Colorado, who starts to cry. Then me. The woman grabs my arm and I start to squirm, fearful of what comes next. She stabs my finger and, before I know what's happened, I am collapsed to the floor.

Michigan grabs my wrist and pulls me aside, but all I can think about is the pain in my finger. The pain! I force myself to stand up and Michigan pulls me to the fourteen's section, where he drops me off.

I wait until our escort comes to the stage, and when he does, I shiver. His name is Harrington Deranged and, rumor has it, he led a street gang before he became escort. Apparently, he blackmailed the Gamemakers to get a Capitol job, but instead he got a job as escort. He hates his job and hates us kids too. He wears a leather jacket and has black hair, green eyes, and hideous orange skin. I mentally add him to the list of things I'm scared of.

"Happy Hunger Games," he smirks. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

Yasmine Mclellan

After our escort, Harrington, goes through the normal speech about the terrible Rebellion and the wonderful Hunger Games, he moves over to draw a name from the girls bowl. He only speaks lies. The Hunger Games are horrible and I will spit on the grave of whoever made them.

"This year's female tributes will be the daughters of... Eliza Dolton!" I breathe a sigh of relief. Another year, safe.

"I volunteer!" I spin around, hearing a familiar voice behind me. My mother. "I volunteer my daughters!" That sinister woman! She abandoned us, and now she expects us to go fight to our deaths for her?

My idiot half-sister, Melody, starts skipping to the stage, singing in a hideous and off key voice. She's gotten large from eating all the food she wants, and she's wearing an expensive dress. I hate her! I hate her.

Lana is making her way up to the stage, looking brave. I try to follow her lead, but I feel a few silent tears escape down my face.

I arrive on stage right behind Lana. For a moment we stand together, then Lana steps out. She runs to my mother and, using her strong arms, punches her. "I hate you!" She shouts. "You left me to die! You evil witch, I will kill your precious little Melody myself! And I hope that when you watch, you will finally feel regret for being such a horrid person! A horrid mother," she spits before slowly making her way back to my side.

* * *

Michigan Oakland

I'm shaking, horrified by the ferocity of the female tribute and by the possibility of being Reaped. If I'm up against that 'Lana' girl, I will die for sure!

"The male tributes this year will be the sons of... Hawaii Oakland," Harrington says, sounding bored. That's me! Breathe in, breathe out, I tell myself. It's not working, and soon I'm hyperventilating. I hear a thud and know that Texas has fainted (again), and I hear the sobs of Colorado. They're too young!

I feel a Peacekeeper pick me up and carry me to the stage. I turn my head and see that Texas is being carried too. Only Colorado has managed to walk. I'm set on the stage in time to hear Harrington asking Colorado for our names.

"I'm Colorado," he whispers feebly into the microphone. "And that's my brother Michigan," he points to me, "and the other one is Texas."

Melody, the plump girl, steps forward and shakes my hand enthusiastically. Yasmine and Lana follow, but in a very different manner. They both look furious, although Yasmine has tears on her cheeks.

"Well, once again," Harrington says, "may the odds be ever in your favor."

**AN**

**Big Announcement: We are halfway through Reapings! I hope you are as excited as I am. The Reapings are important because they introduce the readers to the tributes, but I can't wait to start the action!**

**As always, thank you readers for reading my story. Thank you bumbleinmich for Harrington and angelofmusic4ever for the Oakland family, and hey-dont-mind-us for the Mclellan and Jackson family. Thanks everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed.**

**Another announcement: the SYOT is officially closed! Thank you so much! I can't even start to say how happy I am. Thank you everyone who sent in a tribute, mentor, stylist, or escort! It means a lot to me.**

**About the story, what did you think of the rebel action? I mentioned uprisings in the first chapter, and now I'm showing them. Do you think the games will stop the Rebellion? Also, who's your favorite tribute? There's six tributes from District Six! No wonder this chapter was longer than my others!**

**Lastly, I am putting a poll onto my profile. It is about the goodbyes. I want to know from you if I should cover every tribute goodbyes, or only some of them. Your opinion matters, so please vote!**

**If you haven't already, please favorite, follow, and review.**

**Now, I thought this quote described some of the tributes in this chapter pretty well:**

**"You've got about as much charm as a dead slug."**

**Who said it?**

**~Oceane**


	8. District One Reapings

Shimmer Starlet

"All right girls, this is your last day training. Your father - the mayor - is watching. Why don't you c'mon and show him what you've got?" My trainer smiles at me. I am so ready for this. All my life training - paid off.

"So Shimmer," my sister Sparkle grins at me. "Where should we start?"

"The track," I say. She smiles and we walk to the track, a running track full of hurdles and pits. We are both good at this - we're agile and fast, and my strengths cover her weaknesses and her strengths cover up my weaknesses.

We walk to the starting line and our trainer counts us off, "On your mark... Get set... GO!"

I start, flying down the track, and soon I'm several feet ahead of Sparkle. I am the faster sister, always have been. However soon I am at the first hurdle. I hesitate too long, and when I land, I stumble before regaining my footing. In this time, Sparkle has caught up to me.

Our races always go like this - I'm faster, but she's more agile. I continue to run and jump, launching myself over a pit and managing not to fall in. Now Sparkle is ahead of me, but not for long. I pass her up and jump over a hurdle but she jumps farther and we're even again.

The race lasts for about five minutes until I soar over the last pit and Sparkle and I cross the finish line at the same time. I smile, panting, but proud that we did well in front of our dad. He'll know we're definitely ready for the Hunger Games.

"Nicely done girls," our trainer congratulates us.

"Thanks," we say at the same time. We giggle and turn to each other. "Jinx!"

"What skill are you showing next?" our trainer asks, smiling at us, his start pupils.

"I'll do my specialty skill," I say. Sparkle and I specialize in different weapons, mine being a katana and hers being a bow and arrows.

I step to the weapons display on our back wall and select a katana, or Japanese sword. Its handle is soft and a light pink; I just had it replaced.

The katana is heavy, but still lighter than other swords we own. I walk over to the dummies and activate them. They whir to life and l enter the matted area where they are now moving, all wielding katana's themselves.

I easily swing my blade and slice the head off the first one, then turn and face the other one. We are locked in sword combat - a series of thrusts and dodges, quick recoveries, powerful swings and weapons locked against each other. I surprise the dummy (as much as a mechanical dummy can be surprised) and roll, coming up to my feet and skewering the dummy with my katana from behind. I win.

My dad applauds me, saying that he is impressed by my advance in skill and honored that I will be representing him in the Games. Then Sparkle steps forward and grabs a bow and arrow. She's smiling, eager to hear Dad praise her too. I know he will; she's not a sight to miss with a bow and arrow.

She takes her bow and begins to shoot at the targets in front of her. She easily gets a bullseye each time, so she decides to nock multiple arrows. I see her load four arrows on the string, a difficult amount but one that I've seen her handle. She begins to raise her bow when she stops, adds one more arrow, and lifts her bow again.

Five arrows! I've never seen anyone attempt five arrows, not even Sparkle. She draws her right arm back to her cheek, two fingers under the nocked arrows. She closes her left eye for a moment, then opens it, and releases the arrows. They fly out in rapid fire succession, the first hitting the first target's bullseye but, due to her graceful and quickly moving hand, the others hit the side targets lining the left. All bullseye.

Dad's thunderous applause booms from over in the viewing stands, and he's smiling wide. "You girls are amazing!" He smiles.

"You were great!" My sister and I smile at each other, again speaking at the same time. "No you!" We giggle. "No you!" We start laughing harder. "Jinx!"

* * *

"Sparkle!" I shout. "Come in here and help me, will you?"

"Sure thing, sis," Sparkle calls from down the hall.

She walks into my room, holding a thin plastic sheet. The sheet is covered in small silver peel-off sparkles. "So we have the same idea," I smile. While I'm speaking, I hold up my sheet of pink sparkles, identical to hers besides the color change.

"Jinx," we both giggle.

In front of the mirror, we help each other apply the sparkles to our face. I put them around her eyes, and makes swirls across her cheeks. Then she put sparkles on my face; she uses them to create a crown on my forehead.

We take turns french-braiding each others hair, mine blonde with pink streaks and hers a dark brown. Then I do her silver mascara, her silver eyeliner, her silver eyeshadow and her silver lipstick. Next she does the same to me, applying my pink makeup.

Then we spin around in our flowing dresses, complimenting each other and finishing off our manicures. We finish our outfits with heels.

"You look beautiful," we say at the same time. "Jinx!"

* * *

Sheen de Halloran

"King of the Academy!" a fellow academy student shouts as I walk down the hall. "Is it true?" He asks.

"What?" I snarl, not in the mood for pesky admirers.

"That you're Volunteering?" He asks again. "You know, capital V Volunteering. The Volunteering."

"Yah," I say. "Your problem is?"

"You're fourteen! Isn't that young? Well I mean, you did..." The boy comes to a quiet stop.

I whir around and face him. "I did what?"

The kid gulps, "You, eh, killed your sister. After that, the Hunger Games will be easy!"

I turn away. "Easy. That's right. Now if you know what's good for you, leave this hall and won't talk to me."

"Yes, King," the kid shouts before he runs off.

I growl and make my way down the main hall of the training academy. Eventually, I turn down a side hall, making my way to the dagger training room. The door to the dagger room is much taller than me, the wood a rich mahogany. I raise my hand to the level of my eyes and slowly curl my fingers into a fist. Then I knock loudly; three loud, short knocks.

"Come in son," a deep voice from inside the dagger room shouts. Father.

I swing the heavy wooden door open. The dagger training room is an impressive size; all matted floors and mechanical dummies. All around the walls, simple silver daggers hang. Although the large array of blades is intimidating, the thing I fear more is the man sitting on a metal bench in the corner of the room.

The man wears all black; a black leather jacket, black boots, and a black tattoo of a flame on his arm. His brown eyes never look to me, but instead focus on sharpening the dagger in his hand.

I stand and wait for him to acknowledge me, and eventually he does. He throws his dagger at me and it hurdles closer, at light speed. I roll to the side, hearing the dagger whiz by my ear. I stand up and retrieve the dagger, which is now planted in the wooden door.

"How's your day been son?" The man stands up and walks towards me. I walk to him and we meet in the middle of the room.

"Fair," I say, looking at the wall of weapons behind Father.

"Look at me, boy!" He growls. "Plan to be volunteered."

"I know," I say.

"Remember what I've taught you."

"Of course. You're the best trainer in the academy."

"The Hunger Games are anything but a game," Father says. "If you don't come out, your dead. Just remember Silk."

I stare into my Fathers eyes, searching for hatred, but all I can find is intensity. He says it seriously; remember how you killed your sister. But Silk was his child too, his only daughter. I'm searching for the sound of regret.

* * *

I often wonder about how things would be if I lived in any other District. I wouldn't train, and I wouldn't Volunteer, unless, of course, I was District Two. Most likely, I would be hungry. I would have to work in a factory or a field. Most importantly, the morals would be different.

In District One, the sight of blood is ordinary. Killing is a source of pride. Citizens who murder are rarely shunned. If you come out on the losing side of a fight, you are disgraced, not pitied. When I murdered my sister, my reputation only got better.

Her name was Silk de Halloran. She had short brown hair and light blue eyes. Her favorite weapon was a bow and arrow, and she loved to spend long hours shooting with it. She was strong and born a hunter.

Only, I didn't like her. She was so sweet, and she always helped those younger than her at the academy. Wherever she went, she hummed. Cheerful little tunes that stuck in my head. She was Mother's favorite, and she was so, so perfect.

When she was eight, I killed her in her sleep. She looked so peaceful, until I thrust the dagger into her heart. For a moment, her eyes flew open and she saw me. Then her eyes glazed over and she died.

I was twelve when I killed her. I had already been on the track to volunteering, when I was at, say, seventeen. The moment I killed my sister, I became King of the Academy. I will volunteer at fourteen.

Mother misses Silk. Academy students miss Silk. Father; I'm sure that even he misses Silk. But no one can judge me. Killing is a way of life.

But sometimes...

Sometimes I miss her too.

* * *

Sparkle Starlet

I straighten my dress one last time in line. When I reach the front of the line, I put my hand out in front of me to let the registry woman prick my finger. It doesn't bother me. I'm used to it.

Shimmer follows me until we have to split to our different sections. I'm seventeen, while she's only sixteen. "Remember to smile!" We both shout. "Jinx!"

Soon our escort, Lillian Ruthless, is on the stage. She's petite, with gold hair, silver skin and eyes, and a copper minidress. "Well hello darlings," she coos into the microphone. "Aren't I lucky? The luxury District!"

"Now to the show!" Lillian smiles. She walks to the girls bowl and carefully pulls out a name. "This year's District One female tributes will be the daughters of..."

"I volunteer!" My dad shouts. As mayor, he was already on stage, so he just walks to the microphone. "I volunteer my daughters."

"Well, Mayor Starlet, what an honor!" Lillian says, suddenly more polite. "Now where are those precious daughters of yours?"

I smile and flip my curly brown hair over my shoulder. At first I walk, waving to the crowd of kids behind me. After a bit, I start to run, Shimmer doing the same.

"Now, beautiful girls, what are your names?" Lillian asks once we reach the stage.

"Shimmer and Sparkle," we say. Giggle. "Jinx!"

* * *

Sheen de Halloran

I've seen the girls before, the richest girls in the District. Sometimes they come to the academy, but most of the time they have private trainers. They're impressive, both good contributions to the Career Pack, but not anything that I can't beat.

"Now for the male tributes!" Lillian says. "This year's District One male tributes will be the sons of..." Lillian pauses, "Glitter Gems!"

"I volunteer!" My father shouts. He walks to the stage. "My name's Luxury de Halloran."

"Where are your sons?"

"Son," Father corrects.

I race to the stage, smiling and proud. "I'm Sheen," I grin.

"Shake hands," Lillian says to the Starlet girls and I. The girls turn, and I give them both a kiss on the cheek.

**AN**

**Thanks for reading! Thank you angelofmusic4ever for the Starlet family and Lillian. Thanks LokiThisIsMadness for Sheen. Also thank you to anyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed!**

**I only have one reminder today, and that is too vote! I have the poll about the goodbyes on my page and only have received two votes. One person voted for doing every goodbye and the other voted for doing only some of the goodbyes. I need at least a tie break!**

**"I'm more than just a piece in their game."**

**~Oceane**


	9. District Eight Reapings

Kitrus 'Kit' Mordel

Dad got back late last night. He smelt of fire and ash, and of sweat. His fingertips are burnt, though not severely. I'd love to say I have no idea what he was doing, but everyone in town heard the gunshots. The only people in District Eight with guns are Peacekeepers, so Dad must have been getting himself into trouble. His foolish hopes of a Rebellion are showing again. Last night he acted on his hopes.

"Kit, you would support the Rebellion if it came to that, wouldn't you?" He had asked last night, after rushing into our one room home and slamming the door behind him.

"Of course Dad," I had said. I had smiled at him, my foolish rebel father, and hung his threadbare coat for him. I had brought him a bucket of water and watched him drink up. I had helped him into his thin blankets onto the floor. "Why wouldn't I?"

He believed me, like always. I've never given his name to the Peacekeepers, or tried to stop him with his uprisings. I've never helped him either. Sometimes he'll tell me that he'd love to get the youth involved, and I always nod, but never go to his meetings.

I waited until his eyes were closed to get up. I left my own blankets and ran outside. The outside of our concrete house has one noticeable crack in it, but only I use it. The thin space between thick concrete is the spot where I store my knife.

I had grabbed my knife, one I stole from the butchers, and begun to sharpen it. That's one of my favorite activities, sharpening my knife. I like to imagine that I'm Clove, my favorite character from the Hunger Games. She was wicked and heartless, and amazing with knives, only to be killed by Thresh, a tribute who was avenging the death of his pathetic District partner.

She loved her knives, and sharpened them every night in the arena. Naturally, she did more then just sharpen knives. Her knives were the weapon she used to kill two hopeless tributes. One day, I will kill just as she killed; in the glory of the Hunger Games.

My father may be a rebel, but the Hunger Games are my only love.

* * *

Every toddler child in Panem knows about the Hunger Games. They do not understand them well, but they know that the Hunger Games are terrifying and horrendous. Most kids first truly come to terms with the Hunger Games in about second grade, when they are first required to watch the Hunger Games on television.

I knew and understood the Games long before the other kids. It was actually due to my dad, Celtic the rebel. His older brother and sister were Reaped for the Games when he was a teen. He watched them die in the Bloodbath, and he always told me the stories.

He explained that the Hunger Games destroyed his family and killed his siblings. He told me that the Games were designed to terrify the Districts and keep them in order. Relentlessly, he explained to me the cruelty of the Capitol. But he always left one aspect of the Games out; the Victors.

When I was six, I began to ask him about the other half of the Games. You could either win or lose. If you lose, you die. If you win - then what? Dad explained that the one winner gets to come home and do whatever they want. They get a mansion in the Victor's village and limitless amounts of money and fame. Every year they get to return to the Games to tutor new tributes. Most importantly, they get to bring glory to their Districts, and themselves. This idea formed in my head that maybe I could volunteer, and bring glory to my sad excuse for a District. One day, I could be feared by all of Panem. Winning the Games is my only goal in life.

Last night I had finished sharpening my knife and started training. I practiced hitting windows and rats. When I was finished, I cleaned off my blade and hid it again. In the darkness of the night, I snuck back inside of my house.

I would love to volunteer to the Games this year, but my parents would never volunteer me, which is required for this year's twist. But next year I will be ready, and I will win my way into the Victor's Village.

* * *

Len Seamste

I walk home from the factory every day, on this same route. My brother Jean always walks home from the factory too, but he takes the long way back. Just to avoid me. It's perfect, because I get to avoid him too.

I'm just turning out of the side allies onto the main factory street when I see him. Jean. "What are you doing here?" I shout to him. That stupid brother of mine.

"Walking home," Jean says. He grins, glad he ticked me off.

"I'll kill you right now, you hear?" I shout at him. "Get out of my sight!"

My brother paused to consider this for a moment, smiling. "If you want me out of your sight, you better close your eyes," he grins. "'Cause I'm not going anywhere."

"I hate you!" I holler. "I hate you and I wish I were an only child!"

"Oh yeah, you useless lump of a brother? Then why don't you come over here and do something about it?" Jean snarls at me. I charge at him, prepared to do a full body slam. He steps out of the way and I ram into the concrete wall behind him. Jean swings his fist at me, which smoothly connects with my jaw. Lucky for me, I'm tougher than that. It takes more than one lucky blow to bring me down. I growl and spin around, using my own fist to hit the side of his head, level with his eye. That'll leave a bruise.

Unfortunately, my brother doesn't give up fast either. He rams into me, and I try to punch him again, but he grabs my fist and yanks my arm back in a way it's not supposed to go. I hear myself let out a short yelp in pain before Jean knocks me into a headlock.

I want to retaliate, to kill my brother right then and there, but I can't move. He'll knock me unconscious and leave me in an ally, no regrets. "I'm a nice brother," Jean seethes. "How about you pick a number one through one hundred? If you pick my number, I let you go. If you don't pick my number, I'll kill you now and get this annoyance over with."

"Really?" a light, poetic voice sounds from the top of a molding windowsill. Jean almost drops me. It's Ariada. Ariada is the only thing that keeps the two of us alive. "What good could come from killing each other? The Peacekeepers would kill the survivor anyways!"

Ariada is fifteen, like us, and she has the most beautiful voice - and face - and smile - of any girl in the District. Her hair is a dirty blonde, but long and soft, flowing down past her shoulders. She's tanner than most in our District, as her father is the head Peacekeeper so she doesn't have to work in the factories all day. Her eyes are a sparkling green, which is rare to our District, but she is of Capitol parents.

Many guys have tried to capture her heart, some being the most handsome boys in the District. But, she's always turned every one of them down. Instead, she chooses to hide in the shadows and pop out to stop us from killing each other at the last moment. I think she even considers us her friends. One thing's for sure, it sure is harder to fight each other when she's looming over us like a scolding parent.

Jean is practically drooling as she stands watching us, wearing a turquoise silk dress for the Reapings. She curled her hair and her neck is adorned with a diamond necklace. I've never seen her so dressed up. She always wears old clothes, and I think sometimes she actually puts dirt on her face on purpose, just to blend in with normal civilians like us better.

"Let go of each other," Ariada says. Yes, like I have much say in the matter, held here in a headlock. I would never say that to her. I can't help but admit that I like Ariada just as much as Jean does. Suddenly I'm falling towards the filthy street. Jean! That moron dropped me!

I spring up, about to attack Jean, when Ariada pipes up, "Len, for heavens sake, get yourself ready for the Reapings. There will be enough deaths this month with the Hunger Games, you don't need to be killing each other too."

You've now formally met Ariada, also known as the only reason Jean and I are still alive.

* * *

I make my way into our shack of a home, ready to prepare for the Reapings. I'm making my way to the small dresser where I keep all my clothes when I hear a hoarse old voice call from under a heap of blankets, "What took you so long, boy?"

My grandfather. My only parental figure and yet another complication to my life. He is literally worthless. He just sits in his chair all day, covered in blankets, criticizing Jean and I. He doesn't work or make an income himself. All he does is take up space and use up money, mocking me all the way.

"I asked you a question, Len Seamste. Why are you late and where's your money?" He croaks at me.

"Shut up Grandpa," I growl. "Just let me get ready for the Reapings."

"Well, don't expect me to come to the Reapings this year-"

"Why would I expect that?" I snap. "You've never come."

I leave my grandpa gaping in his rocking chair and throw on some clean clothes for the Reapings.

* * *

Kittrus 'Kit' Mordel

I grin as I make my way to the fifteens section. The Hunger Games are here again! I'm wearing dress pants and a clean shirt. I would dress better, but I don't own any nice clothes. Instead I wear my plain clothes and wait for the fun to begin.

"Welcome to the 175th Hunger Games!" Eclipse Aqua, our escort strides onto the stage. He is the typical escort, insane in every Capitol way. His tuxedo is a neon green and his bald head is covered with a top hat. He gives the normal boring speech about the importance of the Games, which I've memorized.

"Now for the females!" He shouts. "Celtic Mordel!" I hear my father shout in protest. It takes me a second to register the event. I've been Reaped. I've been Reaped! This is amazing. Then the problem hits me. My father. That rebel! He's standing calmly, comforting my sobbing mother. "Celtic Mordel, come forward," the escort says.

Dad still doesn't move. Peacekeepers surge towards him, but he yanks himself from their grasp and marches forward. He stops at a dark patch on the dirt ground. "District Eight!" He shouts. "Do you know what this ash is? It's the-"

Peacekeepers run to my Dad and slam a pistol to the side of his head. They run him off to the side. It doesn't worry me. Dad was bound to be executed soon anyways. I run forward to the stage, smiling. "I'm Kitrus, Celtic's daughter," I say. The escort looks at me with a look I've never seen before from Capitol eyes - respect.

* * *

Jean Seamste

I've never seen anything like that at the Reapings before. A rebellion? What? How? I wait in the fifteens section, as far from Len as I can be. We're not twins; I'm ten months older. "Now to the boys!" Our escort shouts.

"Tyleh Seamste!" Wait - what? Grandparents count as parents? I'm Reaped? Soon I see Len, smiling and running to the stage.

"My grandpa - Tyleh - isn't at the Reapings," he says. It doesn't take long for me to figure out why he's smiling. He'll finally get a chance to kill me. I stride up to the stage confidently. This is fine by me.

I will be Victor, and my brother will be my first victim.

**AN**

**Sorry for the late update! I've been really busy with school. Thanks Starbright22 for Eclipse, LokiThisIsMadness for Kitrus, and angelofmusic4ever for the Seamste family. Thank you to everyone for your support!**

**Keep voting for the poll, if you haven't already done so. Right now, the results say I should not do all the goodbyes. Let me know what you think!**

**To make up for the late update (and because I have big plans), I updated chapter one. Aren't you curious as to what Kitrus' dad meant when he spoke of ashes? And why were his fingers slightly burnt, late in the night? Find out in chapter one, which is now heavily focused on the Rebellion. I'll say it again - I have big plans! If you can, review chapter one and otherwise, just let me know what you think in this chapter review. I'll give you five points!**

**As always, please review!**

**Which wise character said this:**

**"It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart."**

**~Oceane**


	10. District Nine Reapings

Diora Fairchild

I run to the fields, searching for Marko. He isn't home, so he's probably working. He needs to get off early! Today is the Reapings, and if he's late, he'll be whipped. I slip under the barbed wire fence that encircles the grain field.

I duck down into the grain, seeing the Peacekeepers watching from a distance over. Luckily, I'm not very tall, so no one sees me as I run through the fields. "Marko!" I shout. Other workers ignore me, not caring about the small girl looking for her brother. Either that, or they don't have the heart to turn me in.

Luckily, I know where Marko usually works. One part of the field touches the fence to the edge of the District. Marko always works there, staring out into the wild to distract himself from the reality of our work.

I get close to the gate and scan around. There he is! Marko is right by the gate, as far as he can go to the outside without leaving. Poor kid. No matter how much he dreams, we will never go outside. I walk out to him, setting my hand on his shoulder. "Marko," I say quietly.

"What?" He says, setting down his sickle.

"Reapings Marko. They're today!" I say.

"Today? But the Peacekeepers said I had to stay late."

"What did you do this time?"

"Stole the whip," he says. "And tangled it in the top of a tree."

"Marko!"

"They whipped Bear!" He protests, speaking the name of his best friend.

"What did Bear do?"

"Well, you know his Mom's been sick right?" I nod. "His mom died and he was late yesterday."

"Marko," I say, not knowing what to do. "You could get whipped!"

"They just said I had to stay late today."

"You'll be late to the Reapings! They'll get you whipped anyways."

Marko looks at his sickle, then at the grain. With the swing of his strong arms, he threw his sickle at the gate. It ripped through a patch of metal and Marko stared in awe. For a moment, he stepped closer to the gap between District Nine and the wild. Then alarms started to sound. Marko froze.

"Run!" I shout at him. He bolts, and I bolt. We run past other workers, who try to ignore us. Younger workers stop and watch us, not as much out of curiosity but out of the desperation of a work break. Soon we're at the field perimeter, Marko only barely behind me. Peacekeepers are scattering outward, looking for the source of the alarm. In a swift duck, I lean under the barbed wire. Marko follows, and we run through the dirt streets.

* * *

I'm dressed for the Reapings in a patterned gold and black dress with sleeveless dress withsemi-translucent shoulders and a flowing skirt. My mom once wore this dress, but she won't tell me what for. I'm quietly pulling my little sister Krysten's hair into a fish tail braid. Other twelve year olds might cry on their first Reapings, but not Krysten. She sits up straight, not saying a word. The only sign that she's nervous is her constant fiddling with the hem of her light purple dress. I don't need to wonder what she's thinking about. I know she's thinking of the Hunger Games, and the fact that this could be her last day in her home District.

"Dio!" I look down to see Daisy, my two year old sister. "Dio, braid my doll." She holds up a ratty cloth doll, expecting be to braid its thin strands of blonde hair. I used to hate the pipsqueak child, but she's grown on me. It's not that there's anything wrong with her, but she wasn't supposed to be here. Mom had an affair, something I'll never forgive her for.

"I'll braid Lottie's hair when I finish with Krysten," I say. The doll used to be mine, and its name has always been Lottie. Daisy throws Lottie in the air and tries to catch her, but fails to succeed. She quickly runs over to the spot where the doll fell.

It only takes me a minute to finish braiding Krysten's black hair, which is the same color as mine. She whispers a thank you and goes off to read her book. Krysten is quiet, but she loves to read more than anything else.

Daisy stumbles over to sit with me. I pick her up and set her in my lap. "Braid!" She says. I smile and take the doll, holding her delicately. Daisy looks to me expectantly. She has the same green eyes as my mother and Krysten and I, but nothing else. Everyone in my family has black hair, but Daisy is blonde.

My father died in a revolt three years ago. There was a march through the fields demanding better pay for the workers. Soon Peacekeepers had arrived with guns, and my father was one of the dozens shot dead.

Two years ago, Daisy came around. I'm next to positive the father is my best friend Lilli's dad, but I blame my mom for all of it. How could she betray Dad like that? I loved my father, but my mom now has as much worth to me as a dying rat.

Soon I'm done braiding Lottie's hair, and I hand the doll back to Lottie, only to see that Daisy is crying. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Today's no good," she says. It surprises me how much she understands, being two.

"Today is a fine day," I lie. "Don't worry." Just as I finish my words, Mom's call echoes through our small house.

"Come on, Diora, get your siblings. It's Reaping time." I reluctantly get Krysten and Daisy and head to the dreaded Reapings.

* * *

Fitz Bradley

I shuffle slowly out of the fields, tired from the days work. Today couldn't be any worse. Today is Reaping day. The Reapings lead to the Hunger Games, which lead to death. And every year, I'm more likely to be Reaped. This year could be the year I die.

It would be likely. My father and I work in the fields, but I take tesserae. Ever since Mom left, we haven't had enough money. It was hard enough then. But now... Dad does nothing but worry.

Mom was a beautiful woman, and she left at the age of thirty four, when I was seven. She worked in the field, but she had Capitol relatives. One day they contacted her about modeling in their fashion magazine, and Mom left. She hasn't even sent money in financial support.

I'd love to say I inherited some of Mom's good looks, but that'd be a lie. I'm stocky and I have short brown hair. My jawline is square, and my skin is blemished. And now I'm starving.

I shuffle my feet as I head back to my home. It's hardly a house; just a shack that keeps me mostly dry when the rains come. My father is already home, setting his handful of coins down. I do the same, and head to my trunk with a discontented sigh. The trunk contains my clothes and few other possessions. It's been in my dad's family for generations.

I hear my dad moan as he massages his own shoulders, which are aching from hunching over to cut the grain at the stems. I'm scared for Reapings, but my dad is too stressed to talk to. I just let him be.

Soon I'm dressed in my best clothes, which aren't as stained as my others, but still in an unrepairable condition. I sit silently, staring at the weak wooden walls if our home. Reapings will be soon, but I'm choosing to ignore it. Instead I absorb the details; things to keep my mind occupied. The wooden planks are a dark brown, the same color as my eyes. Although the panels once offered shelter, they now are filled with holes. I try to take in the patterns instead of the weaknesses, looking at the swirls and rings in the wood. The rings are like words. They tell a story that I can't read, but hold many wonders. Now they hold me.

* * *

"Hold out your hand," a Capitol worker says as she prepares to stab my finger. I hate this part. I hate all of this! I hold out my shaking hand and she draws my blood, causing me to shout in agony. The woman gives me an odd stare and continues on her work. I rush away.

I arrive in the thirteen year old section, surrounded by other terrified kids. They whimper quietly while I whimper loudly. I'm going to die! I just know it.

* * *

Krysten Fairchild

I've been quiet all day, but I'm truly terrified. I try to keep my fears silent, so I don't worry anyone else. Sometimes wish I could just cry like the other twelve year olds, but I don't want to worry Marko as he waits in the fourteens or Diora as she waits in the seventeens. So I keep it in.

"Welcome," our escort Cassidy Thornton glides onto the stage, "to the District Nine Reapings." Cassidy gives us a chilling smile as she goes into her Hunger Games speech. Cassidy has been our escort for nine years now, since she was nineteen. Everyone agrees that she reminds them of ice.

She has pale skin and only dresses in white and blue. Her hair is blue, her eyes are white, and she has permanent snowflake sparkles on her face. Even her personality matches ice; chilling and harsh.

"Let's start with the girls, shall we?" She smirks and the girls, who are shaking and terrified. "Where is... Camila Fairchild?" She grins. My mother screams from the back of the crowd. Peacekeepers march back and grab her, shoving her towards the stage. Panic begins to set in on me. I've been Reaped.

I crumple to the floor and make no attempt to get back up. Soon Cassidy must have asked for the daughters, because Peacekeepers are marching over to me. I scream. They grab for me, and I begin to thrash around, kicking my feet and flailing my arms. The Peacekeepers grab me and carry me to the stage, where I see Diora waiting. She has one tear on her cheek as she watches me and I know she's not worried for her own life, but mine.

* * *

Fitz Bradley

I watch as a twelve year old is carried from her section, and I feel myself worrying. I could be Reaped, like her! We could both die!

"Now for the boys!" Cassidy shouts over the girl's screaming. "Where are the sons of... Klaus Bradley?"

That's me! I'm dead already! I sob as I shuffle up to the stage, as my Dad does the same. I wish he could be stronger, for me! But that doesn't happen and Cassidy is smiling skeptically as she announces, "Give it up for the tributes of District Nine!"

* * *

**AN**

**I'm really sorry about the late update. I've been insanely busy. I hope you all enjoy my chapter! Thanks angelofmusic4ever for Fitz and HungerG94 for the Fairchild family. Thank you for all the reviews! We've officially reached fifty!**

**This is just a reminder to vote for how I do the Goodbyes. Right now, the poll says that I should not do all the goodbyes. What do you think? Your vote matters. **

**Also, there are only three Reaping chapters left! Yes! Then we are on to the action. I can hardly wait. **

**On a different note, I was sad that no one guessed my quote from the last update! It's one of my favorite quotes, and it's from one of my favorite characters So, I'm offering a second chance. If you can say who said it in this review, I'll still give the sponsor points. **

**Lastly, please favorite, follow, and review! Thanks!**

**"I'm very hard to catch, and if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."**

**~Oceane**


	11. District Ten Reapings

Carlotta Fleck

"Think of me,  
Think of me fondly,  
When we say goodbye," I sing.  
"Remember me,  
Every so often,  
Please promise me you'll try.  
And on that day,  
That not so distant day,  
When you are far away and free,  
Please promise me that sometimes,  
You will think of me," my voice, high and elegant, rides through the bar. I wrap up the aria with a grand crescendo. Everyone in the bar applauds and I take a sweeping bow, my red ringlets falling over my eyes. When I stand up, I pat my simple blue dress smooth and stride off of the small platform that serves as a stage.

Christine is glaring at me, watching with envy as she serves pub food to the men sitting at the tables. She wishes she could be the bar entertainment, but dad chose me. She can just keep serving tables, because I'm not stepping down.

"Do you want me to put California on the entertainment slot?" my dad stomps over to me. I wince at his harsh words. He's cruel with everyone, so I've learned to put up with him. "You sounded like a strangled goose! Horrendous! Get out of my sight." With a flourish of his arms, Dad disappears to the kitchen.

I sigh and walk absentmindedly to the bar, where my littlest sister, California, is serving drinks. The men smile at me and some manage to say "good job" but the only person who actually tries to comfort me is California. She's always been sensitive, and when rivalries come up between Christine and I, she tries to serve as a fair referee. Now that I'm on the receiving side of Dad's fury, she is my source of condolences.

California hands a man a mug of frothing beer before gently hugging me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "You sound amazing," she says quietly. I know I sound amazing. I just need to go slap dad, and teach him that I'm not to be bossed around by anyone. I'm sixteen, after all. Practically a woman.

"I know I sound amazing, you stupid barista," I snap at California. "What type of comfort was that?"

"Sorry Carlotta, I'm just trying to help. If you're going to be grumpy, then I'm going to go finish up my shift."

I elbow California away from me and march to the stairs. We live in an apartment above the bar, which my father owns. The bar is one of the few businesses in town that is actually successful. While most people starve, the merchants still need their whiskey, and thus the company is a success. Dad manages, I provide the entertainment (with my flawless voice of course), Christine waits tables, and California is a barista. Our mom, Antoinette, works in the kitchen.

Reapings are not for a few hours, so I have time to mope in my room before getting ready. The dress I'm wearing is nice enough, but I need to apply my make up and precious perfume. To pass the time, I look through my wardrobe - I'm extravagant - the Capitol would love me. Sometimes I like to imagine myself as a Capitol music star. That would be the best. Job. Ever!

For now I'll have to settle for a bartender life. Unless, of course, Christine tries to challenge my position. I'll knock her and her puny little dreams right over! I am the only singer in this house hold. I -

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian," I hear Christine's voice echo from down the hall. She's simply singing to herself, but I can't stand it. She... She... Actually sounds decent!

"What are you doing singing, waitress?" I storm out of my room and to the hall. "You do realize you sound like a nightmare, right?"

Christine stands gaping at me, her brown doe eyes wide. "I think nightmare is a better compliment than strangled goose! That's what Dad said you sounded like," she has a sly grin as she speaks.

"Dad's a bad judge! Everyone else loves me!"

"Oh, but Carlotta, they don't. I work with the people, remember? They were all trying to cover their ears when you sang!"

"Were not!"

"Were too!" She stops and begins to smile a wicked little smile. "In fact, Dad told we we're switching jobs, starting tomorrow."

"He did not!" I wail. California runs in, brushing a wisp of her brown hair from her eyes.

"What's wrong this time?" California asks.

"Christine's a liar! She said Dad fired me!"

"Dad didn't fire you," California reassures me. "But why did she say that in the first place?"

"Because she's mean!" I whine.

California shoots me a skeptical glance. "I have a feeling you started it. That's how your arguments usually work."

Christine, who had been quiet, rolls her eyes. "She ran into the hall just to say I sounded like a drowning cow."

"I never said that!" I snap. California shoots me another skeptical look. "The word I used was nightmare..."

"You're both good singers!" California declares. "The reason Carlotta sings is because, well, Carlotta, your people skills are kind of really awful."

I stomp my foot and whirl out of the room. I am not topped by Christine! I'm the older twin after all.

* * *

Christine Fleck

Carlotta runs off as California nervously fiddles with her hair. What she said was true, but Carlotta will hate her for it. That won't make too much of a difference, since Carlotta already hates everything, except herself. What a brat.

I hug California. "You're fine, and absolutely right, as usual. Now, I'm going to my room." I walk away to my room, which is full of sheets filled with lyrics I scribble down in my free time. Carlotta takes away so many things from me, but she can't take away this.

I pick up a sheet and examine it, closing my room's wooden door. Here I wrote the words of a love song. For John, I smile. He's my angelic boyfriend, the one who makes up for the terrible life I have here. John. Why don't I go visit him before the Reapings? The grin spreads across my face.

There's a series of pipes running between the merchant buildings, and I often use them to run from my bar to the town's tailor shop. Silently, I open my window and sneak out, sitting on the wooden sill.

From there, I walk carefully to a pipe. Balance is key. One misstep and I'll plummet two stories onto a concrete alleyway. I carefully walk along the first pipe until it intersects with a new one, one that turns into a different alley. This pipe is wider, so I can walk a little faster. At one point, it runs inches away from a building wall, so I have something to lean on. I take one more new pipe and scurry along until I reach the window of my destination. John's window. A blue curtain is pulled across the window from the inside, so I can't see if he's in his room.

Carefully sitting on the windowsill, I knock. "Christine?" I hear John's voice ask from inside.

"No, it's another of the hundreds of citizens who love to run across the pipes," I say sarcastically. Although I have to speak loud, the walls are thin enough that he can hear me. "Of course it's me."

I hear him unlock the window and I gently lift it open. I swing my legs in and leap into his room. "Christine," he smiles. I'm not very tall, so when I run up to kiss him, I have to stand on my tiptoes. He picks me up and spins me around before setting me down on the ground again, quietly, so no one knows I'm here. "You smell like the pub food," he whispers in my ear.

"What was that all about?" I grin. "Please don't tell me that was your attempt to be romantic."

"Christine, I thought you knew me better," he teases. "I'm not a romantic guy. But - I love you."

"I love you too," for a second we stand, just staring at each other. Him and California are the only good parts in my life. Dad is cruel, Mom is too busy to really care for me, and Carlotta is a selfish Prima Donna. Not to mention, the men at the bar aren't always the greatest. Especially when they're flagging me down for their fourth drink refills.

He doesn't have much else to live for either. His dad, who he adored, died of cancer two years ago. His previously loving Mom turned cold, and now all she does is run their family's tailor shop. His twenty-three year old sister bosses him around, forcing him to work extra hours. He hates the work of a tailor, but he has no other choice. That's part of why our relationship works so well. We are each other's escapes.

John smiles at me and brushes a ringlet of brown hair from my face. "Well, Christine, you came here for a reason. Care to tell me why?"

A reason? He knows I come here when I'm upset. Surely that can't be the answer he's looking for. If only I knew what to tell him.

I came here because... I don't want to be home. I love him. He needs a distraction too. He loves me. I would do anything to spend my time with him, everyday. He's my prince. I needed a bit of fairytale before the Reapings. Reapings... I wanted to see him before we have the possibility of separation. Maybe I have the same fear of the Hunger Games as everyone else, and I only want to spend my possible last moments with someone who matters to me.

"I want to spend my possible last real moments with someone I love," I say.

"Christine, you're coming back. You have no other choice," he says it with a stern expression.

"The Reapings don't really allow for a choice," I say.

"Don't you believe in fate?"

"Fate?"

"Yes, fate. We were meant to be together, Christine Fleck. Nothing, not even the Hunger Games can separate us."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Because I love you," he pulls me tight, and I don't know why, but I start to sob.

"I'm coming back John, and so are you," I say, before slipping out of his grasp and climbing out the window. The whole way home, I have to continue to wipe tears from my eyes.

* * *

Akio Sumo

I have a handful of coins in my fist. Just enough to buy a small meal at the farmers market. Because this is an agriculture district, the farmers market is a vast labyrinth like maze of vendors trying to sell me fresh food, mostly meat because of our District's specialty.

My adoptive parents gave me the money to buy my own meal today. My brother and I are friends, but every moment we are in each others company, we stir up a fight. In an attempt to keep us at peace with each other, my adoptive parents gave us each a small amount of money and told us to buy our own meal.

I scuttle through the streets until I arrive at the market. The path now smells of sweat and dirt from hundreds of merchants, and the rotting stench of stray cats and dogs running between the stands. Any of the wealthier members of the District recoil from the filthy location, but I know I can get some of the freshest - and cheapest - food here.

"Beef! Beef, young lad for a fine price!" A merchant on my right shouts to me, over the bustle of the crowds. I ignore him and push myself further into the swarm of warm bodies.

"Fish, from imported straight from District Four!" A boy, only seven, runs through the dirt path with a basket of fish. "I've got the only fish in the lot, a delicacy indeed, for only one silver!" He continues to shout. His clothes are stained and patched, but he's doing better than most of the merchants because his youth attracts pity. Two young woman are heading to buy from him as he shouts.

I know where I'm headed. There's one stand, in the middle of the market, that sells beef. Of course, dozens of other stands sell beef and this stand's beef isn't of the highest quality, but I have a purpose. The merchant is an old man, withered and with the grayest of hair, but he is the cleverest man in the District. If I buy from him, he gives me a riddle.

Riddles are one of the few things I enjoy. Most consider me the smartest boy in the District, and those who don't consider my brother to hold that position. The point is, I need mental stimulation, and one of the best forms of mental stimulation is a riddle.

I weave through the crowds of orphans and peddlers, past merchants calling for me, and to the middle. Finally, I see the rotting wooden stand. "Frollo Frederick's Beef," the old sign reads. Slumbering in his chair is Frollo himself, the man with the riddles.

Then I see him. My brother, Akira Sumo. He's already at the stand, attempting to wake Frollo. How dare he? This is my stand!

"Akira!" I shout as I surge forward. He whirs around and spots me.

"If it isn't you?" He laughs slyly. "What is the probability that we would both choose the same stand? I would do the math for you, but frankly, I'm here first. You can leave now."

"Fallacy!" I shout as I reach him. "Your being here first has nothing to do with the right to stay."

"Oh, you think your such a wise boy, don't you? Pointing out every little mistake."

"I'm smarter than you, Akira! When was the last time you said anything clever?"

"Boys!" We are snapped alert by the hoarse voice of Frollo. "I've a riddle for you, and the first to solve it can buy from me." Akira and I lock eyes. Challenge accepted.

"There are two identical brothers," Frollo says. "One always lies while the other always tells the truth. You have been on a journey and have reached a forked road. One path leads to your destination and the other to imminent doom. You do not know which road is the correct one. The only people around are the brothers, and they know the safe path. What one question can you ask them that will get them to tell you where to go?"

That's more complicated than the other riddles he's told me. I can't ask which path to take, because the honest brother would give the good path and the dishonest brother would give the wrong path, but they're identical so I wouldn't know who to trust. My brother looks as stumped as I am. Frollo smiles.

"You have to ask which path their brother would suggest," Frollo says. "The honest brother knows his brother would give the wrong path, so that's the one he points to. The dishonest brother knows that his brother would point to the right path but since he always lies, he too would point to the wrong path. Thus both brothers would be pointing to the wrong path. Take the path that neither is pointing to and you will be safe."

Neither Akira or I say a word, but Frollo continues. "Some trials are coming for both of you, but they are nothing that a little bit of simple logic can't resolve. Just make sure to always take the right path."

* * *

Frollo had given us both free beef and sent us on our way. Neither my brother or I could find the right words to say. We walked into our small home, side by side, silently. Our adoptive mother, Vanessa Sumo, had stared in awe. She hasn't seen us in the same room and not arguing in the entire time we've been a part of her family.

Our real mother had Akira when she was sixteen. She had me at eighteen. Her family disowned her and she couldn't take care of us, so she gave us to some parents who couldn't have their own children. That's the family we're in now, along with an also adopted twelve year old sister, Marina.

When Akira and I were young, we used to play "Guess Which Random Person On The Street Is Our Real Mom." This involved a lot of staring out windows and pointing at the first person we saw. The sessions were usually brief.

Me: Look at her! *Points at woman.* She could be our Mom.

Akira: No she couldn't.

Me: Ya she could!

Akira: She doesn't look anything like you.

Me: Well, she has the same big fat crooked nose as you! *Sticks tongue out and marches away.*

I was only four at the time, and definitely not the most mature. For a long time now, we've stopped trying to guess. Why should we care who our mom is if she doesn't care about us?

* * *

California Fleck

Now that Christine and Carlotta are in their separate rooms, I can get ready for the Reapings. I head to my room and throw on a ruffled red dress. I'm told it looks good with my dark brown hair and pale skin, but I don't care much about my appearance.

Christine and Carlotta dream of being singing stars, and musical beauties. My dreams are much simpler. All I want is a family that can get along. Just - some love.

* * *

"Welcome, to the District Ten Reapings!" Our escort, Margarita Lyric smiles at us. She looks like a dewdrop - a petite woman of white hair, blue skin, green eyes. "I can't wait to see this years tributes," she chuckles. Most of the District believes she's slightly insane, for reasons such as her current maniacal grin.

After she finishes her speech of the necessity of the Games, she heads to draw a name. "For the girls - Our tributes will be the daughters of... Antoinette Fleck!" Antoinette? That's... That's my mom! I hear a sudden shout from the sixteen's section.

"I won the Hunger Games!" Someone shouts. I recognize the voice instantly. Carlotta! Christine is following her, standing strong. Mom is also walking up. Now it's my turn. I try not to cry, but it's hard. I'm a tribute to the Hunger Games now. Everyone is watching.

* * *

Akira Sumo

The girl family looks like a bunch of Bloodbath tributes. Although the two brown haired ones - California and Christine, they said - are trying to be strong, they look to weak to stand a chance. The red haired one - Carlotta - is most likely insane. She looks like she honestly believes what she shouted: that she won the Hunger Games.

Our escort this year is also insane. The two should get along well. The escort, in a fit of giggles, manages to say, "And to the boys!" She sticks her hand into the boys Reaping Bowl. "This years tributes will be the sons of... Violet Jones!" I breathe a sigh of relief. I can't wait to get this entire ordeal over with and do some important things.

The woman walking to the stage has black hair and green eyes, along with deeply tanned skin. She looks extremely nervous. I guess anyone would be scared if their kids were heading into the Hunger Games.

"Well," Violet says when she reaches the microphone. "My sons don't, um, exactly know who I am. I gave them up for adoption, so, sorry... Ya. Well. Their names now are, er, Akio and Akira Sumo. Sorry. Really sorry about that, sons."

Wait, what? Me? There's no way that's fair. "Pick a new name!" Akio shouts as he storms up to the stage. "We don't even know her!" Akio runs up to the escort. I follow him.

"Um, ya, hi, I'm your Mom," Violet whispers. I'm on the stage now, furious.

"Sorry, boys," our escort chuckles. "But you're the tributes."

I tilt my head back so I'm staring at the sky. I don't care what anyone thinks of me. "Thanks a lot, odds!"

* * *

**Wow, this is a really late update! Sorry about that. I feel that now I need to ****give some sort of explanation as to why I wasn't able to write a chapter.**

**Well, last weekend I had a party, and I became a kind of sleep deprived monster on Monday and Tuesday. On Tuesday, I was assigned to write approximately 5,892,001 essays evaluating the Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx. I could hardly read it, much less evaluate it. It was just nine pages of me looking up every other word in order to grasp a basic understanding of some historical account of social class problems. When I finally finished all 5,892,001 essays (because of my amazing ability to write fast (okay, not really)), I spent my time watching Disney movies and annoying everyone in my household with my never ending singing of "A Whole New World" from Aladdin. Basically, that's the love song where they float around on a magic carpet. Maybe that's why I felt the need to throw some romance into this chapter.**

**That was incredibly embarrassing. I apologize for making you read about my terribly boring life (write essays, listen to Disney songs). Ignore all of that. I'm starting again in the next paragraph in an attempt to regain my dignity.**

* * *

**Hi! Sorry for the late update. From now on, I'll be updating once or twice a week, but I've been crazy busy. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks angelofmusic4ever for Meg and the Fleck family, and tasherekalb for the Sumo family. Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows.**

**About my mention of fallacies: for those of you who don't know what a fallacy is, it is illogical reasoning. Akira said that he should stay because he was at the stand first. Because there is no correlation between being the first to arrive at a location and having the right to stay, his reasoning was fallacious, which Akio pointed out to him.**

**Only two more Reapings left! Yay!**

**Now, about my poll. Right now, the results say that I should write all of the goodbyes. What do you think? Vote and let me know!**

**What did you think of the tributes? Who was your favorite? What about Christine's romance? And... Did any of you solve the riddle?**

**I really am sorry about the late update. I feel like I've let all of you wonderful readers down.**

**"I'm sorry Peeta," ... "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." (I chose this quote because it has sorry in it. Yes, I am that pathetic.)**

**~Oceane**


	12. District Eleven Reapings

Hanna Engle

I hold a small book, the only one I own. It's called Sleeping Beauty. The cover is bound in leather, and the words are written in a swirling gold font. To anyone else, the book may seem like a waste of time, but to me, the book is magic.

It tells the story of a beautiful but cursed princess. Because of the work of an evil fairy named Malificent, the princess is destined to be sent into a hundred year slumber on her sixteenth birthday. If she goes into this sleep, the entire kingdom will sleep with her. The king and queen did everything they could to prevent it, but the curse still came true.

People from all the kingdoms over tried to get to the princess and revive her with the only saving force - an act of true love. However, the castle was guarded by thorn bushes and a fire breathing dragon. Although many went to the castle, few returned with their lives.

Finally, one prince came along who was smarter and faster than the rest. He outwitted the dragon, snuck through the thorns, and climbed up the tower to the room where Sleeping Beauty slept. He saw her and knew that they were meant to be. He kissed her and she woke. The kingdom rejoiced as it revived and the princess had been saved. On the last page, the cursive script reads, "The End."

Although this story is my life, I hate the ending. The end? There is no way that the princess was kissed and all of the problems were instantly resolved. What about Malificent? She couldn't have just been perfectly okay with being defeated. And the prince and princess? Did they marry? Did they have kids? How did the kingdom recover from being asleep for years? There must have been repercussions.

I know that there is no such thing as the end. There's not an end for anyone. Not for my parents, not for my sisters, not for Sleeping Beauty, not for me. After my every triumph, a book would want to write "The End." But for every triumph I have, the next day there are twice as many troubles.

* * *

"Hanna, still looking through that book of yours?" My eighteen year old brother, Conner, laughs at me. He may be my brother, but he's a bully. "What's the point of a book?" He asks. "It's all fake you know."

"I know," I mumble as I try to run off.

"Where are you going?" He snaps. "Come 'ere." He stretches his hand to me and snatches Sleeping Beauty.

"Give it back Conner!" I squeal.

He laughs and flips through the pages. When he gets to the last page, he stops. "And they lived Happily Ever After. The End." He laughs and rips the precious paper, before crumpling the two pieces.

Just then, my sixteen year old sister Alicia rushes in. "What's going on?" She sees Sleeping Beauty and instantly stomps her foot. "Conner!" She declares. Ripping the book from his hands, she runs over to my side.

"Hey Hanna!" Conner taunts. "You can have the page back now." He walks off with a smug grin on his face, and drops the destroyed pages. Alicia retrieves them for me.

"Look!" Alicia holds the pages up next to each other. "The End!" I sob as she attempts to fix the book for me. "I'll fix it!" She says quickly. "I'll write a new ending."

"A new one?" I ask, confused.

"Yes," Alicia says confidently. "You read stories, but someone has to write them!"

I nod, slowly, "Sounds fair."

"Well, soon the - I'm sorry Hanna, but what's the story again? I haven't, er, looked in the book for a long while." I quickly explain the story to her, beginning to be curious to hear her ending.

"Okay. That's a good start," Alicia says. "Now, the prince and princess are getting married. But at their wedding, Malificent sends a, a crony of hers to crash the event! The crony doesn't manage to kill the prince and princess but the king and queen are murdered. Ya... And others! So the government was weak, and, um, well, they were weak. Then the people rebelled, like, really bad, and took over the government. And, so, the prince and princess were exiled! They fled to the forest, but Malificent had trapped them. So, they managed to escape, but the prince got hurt. Really badly. He was bleeding and stuff, and he couldn't walk. So... Um, they had to return to the old kingdom. And they were in such a mess that no one recognized them! A kind doctor healed him, but he still limped. So the prince and princess became beggars on the street until they died. But they were together. The End."

I'm not sure why, but I continue to cry. The story was great. Better than I imagined. "Oh, I ruined it!" Alicia exclaims. "Your childhood is dead now! I'm an idiot. Forget all of that. I guess that, I thought it was okay to make a bad ending because, that's what real endings are like. Most endings aren't happy."

"I know, Alicia. I love the story. I love the ending. It's real. And I know most endings aren't happy. I've been thinking that for a while now."

* * *

Elodie Engle

"Alicia, what dress should I wear?" I ask my sister Alicia, who I share my room with.

"How do you have multiple dresses?" Alicia rolls her eyes at me.

"One is Mom's," I snap.

"Why are you wearing Mom's dress?"

"I might not wear it. I just need variety!"

"I don't care what you look like," Alicia sighs.

"Wait!" I quickly throw on Mom's dress, a flowing white one. "What do you think?"

"You look like a swan," Alicia rolls her eyes. I smile. "A fat swan with an awkwardly long neck."

"Shut up! I hate you!" I squeal. I change into my dress, a short purple one. "What about this one?"

She looks at it for a moment before saying, "If looks could kill, you could wear that dress into the arena and win the Games." I gasp in horror. She didn't dare! I march forward and try to kick her, but she steps aside and punches my jaw. Ow... I stumble back.

"You know what? I look better than you!" I shout, but due to my throbbing jaw it sounded more like, "Oo owe what? I ook bettuh dan oo!" Alicia just laughs and gets dressed into her Reaping outfit, a plain white shirt and pleated blue skirt.

I stomp my foot and rush off to the only mirror in our house, which is down the hall. Quickly, I apply dark purple lipstick to match my dress and a light blush, along with a thin line of eyeliner and as much mascara as I can apply.

I've always considered being pretty my best trait. That's all that matters, right? If I'm pretty, I can get a rich husband and live happily. Now I'm concerned that I might have a multicolored bruise on the side of my face where Alicia punched me. Of all the days, she had to sock me on Reaping day?

Sighing, I pull my shoulder length light brown hair into a french braid. I pin down the loose hairs and scurry to the kitchen for my last meal before the Reapings.

* * *

Alex Moonheart

I plunge my hand into the soil, pulling up a handful of dirt. The soil is rich in this garden, like most dirt in District Eleven. It feels warm, almost soft. Just like Zinnia. Soft like the lines of her face. Warm like her hands, which she held in mine to keep me reassured despite my fears.

Digging deeper, I watch as the dirt files itself further up my nails. I don't care. I turn to my side and pull a small blue flower from its pot. A zinnia, the flower of her namesake. I place the zinnia in the hole I dug and cover the roots, firmly pushing in and patting down the patch of soil. I sprinkle on some fertilizer and water the plant with an old silver pail.

The flower smiles back at me, just like Zinnia. Since she died in the Hunger Games six years ago, I have planted a zinnia for her on Reaping day. A flower for a sister I'll never be able to thank.

When I was young, my parents died from a cough that swept the country. My sister Zinnia and I were orphans, living on the streets and barely surviving. Then she was Reaped for the Games at the age of thirteen. Although she survived the Bloodbath, she was killed on day two when she was pursued by careers. The District Two female slit her throat, and even worse, her killer moved on to be Victor. Zinnia was never avenged.

I lived as a beggar for three months, before the Moonhearts found me passed out by their trash can. I was severely dehydrated and would have died if they hadn't taken me in. Lucky for me, the Moonhearts are both Victors and they live in the Victor's village. They have two sons of their own, Leather and James, who they train to volunteer. As soon as I was strong enough, I was trained too. They expect us to go to the Games and win. This year Leather is eighteen, so he was going to volunteer, but the twist says that all siblings must enter the arena. So today at the age of fourteen, I am being volunteered for the Hunger Games.

As you can imagine, I'm terrified because of what happened to Zinnia. But James helps. Leather is tough and arrogant, but James is only a year older than me and we are best friends. He was very similar to his brother until he learned my story. He went from bloodthirsty and Games-loving to compassionate overnight. He helps. With his help, and my training, I could be a Victor.

* * *

James Moonheart

"Are you ready?" I ask Alex from where I stand behind him in black. Although I never knew Zinnia, I know she is the reason that Alex is alive. Alex is the reason I'm not a bloodthirsty career. It's shocking how much I owe to a dead girl I never knew existed.

"I'm ready," Alex sighs. He stands up and looks down at the cheerful zinnia, his own face crumpled into a frown. "Zinnia, it's been a while since I've seen you, but I don't ever stop thinking about you. I love you, and love is like a ghost; it haunts. Every time I see a sunrise or a zinnia, or an orphan with a rusty coin, I think of you. You were beautiful and brave. Without you, I would be dead, but now you're gone and sometimes I think that it should be me in a grave, not you. You were destined for greatness, Zin.

"Sometimes, I feel like you're besides me. I'll feel your light presence, and I look for you. I never find you, but I know you have to be alive somewhere. Maybe there's an afterworld for people like you who deserve it. A soul as good as yours can't be gone forever.

"The worst part, Zinnia, is that I can't thank you. There is no way to talk to you. But you struggled on the streets besides me, became my mom when we were orphans. And you died before I could see how lucky I was. Now every day I struggle with the pain of living without you." Alex finishes. My turn.

"Zinnia, I, er, want to say thank you too. Without you to raise Alex, I would be a selfish career, killing children in the Games just like you. But Alex, and you, inspire me every day to be a human. To have feelings. I never met you, but I think - I know - you've changed me for the better.

"I'm just going to say, you did a great job with Alex. The kid is strong, brave, and resilient, but he knows how to love better than anyone. If you could see him now, you would be glowing with pride," I slowly finish, wishing I knew more to say.

Alex nods. I expect him to walk away, but he says one more thing. "Um, Zinnia, things have changed since you left. I'm, I'm going into the Games this year. So maybe, I mean there's a chance, I'll be talking to you - in person - really soon."

* * *

Alicia Engle

I help Hanna through the line and hold her up while she squeals with the pain of her blood being drawn. She wouldn't stand a chance in the Games. Neither would Elodie - she's been flirting the entire time we've been waiting for the Reapings to start. She's only fourteen! Hanna's only thirteen, so at sixteen, I'm the oldest sister. I try to be caring, but most of the time, Elodie and I fight. I still love her.

I hardly notice our escort walk onto the stage, slinking through the shadow's. His name is Mason, no one knows his last name. He has tan skin and black hair with one streak of orange. His clothes are all black, even his eyes are black!

"Welcome to the Reapings," he says indifferently. We watch the Rebellion video and he quickly moves on. "The female tributes will be the daughters of... Lisette Engle." I hear mom's footsteps as she slowly walks forward. I begin to walk up, staying strong for my siblings. I can make it out... My sisters might not.

As I arrive on the stage, I see Hanna shuffle her way forward, crying. Where's Elodie? I soon see Peacekeepers pushing through the crowd. They lean down, and when they stand, one is holding my unconscious sister. I can win. But... How can I save them?

* * *

Leather Moonheart

Dead. They'll all be dead. Bloodbath tributes, I assume. I'll kill them myself. I'm capable. The girls won't even be contenders to my crown.

The time ticks slowly and finally, my Mom volunteers me and my brothers. The other kids stare in awe. Volunteers are rare, but I'm not just a tribute. I'm a Victor.

* * *

**AN**

**Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites! I appreciate them. Thanks angelofmusic4ever for the Engle family and for Mason, and thank you Starbright22 for the Moonheart family.**

**Once again, I'm giving a friendly reminder to vote on the Goodbyes. With five votes to four, I plan on writing all the goodbyes. What do you think?**

**Only one Reapings left, yay! Who was your favorite tribute in this District? What about in all the Districts?**

**"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."**

**~Oceane**


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